


Hell On Earth

by ChaoticMind (ChloeCasey), Chloe Casey (ChloeCasey)



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor isn't a killer yet, Alastor's human name is Adam, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, For some character shenanigans, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), M/M, Multi, Pentious is a major flirt, Post-World War I, The main year for the setting is 1919, as is Lucifer, so....
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:34:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 54,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23756212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeCasey/pseuds/ChaoticMind, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeCasey/pseuds/Chloe%20Casey
Summary: It’s a known fact of the world that sometimes the dead don’t stay dead. That sometimes, in the event of death, people end up coming back from the afterlife, with new forms, new bodies, that can only be felled by holy metal. Less than 1% of the world’s population remain as demons, and they are composed of nothing but the worst of the worst.Adam Walker had never seen a demon before the War. But that all changed when the military reassigned him to an operation few are privy to, acting as the negotiator between captive demons and the demands of the authorities who hold them. Every day is a risk, but he’s been able to keep his head above water for 6 months, away from home, away from the war, and it’s an accomplishment to be proud of. But a new demon has come to stay, a mysterious one. One that has his eyes on Walker himself.
Relationships: Alastor/Lucifer Magne, Alastor/Sir Pentious (Hazbin Hotel), Lucifer Magne/Sir Pentious, Lucifer Magne/Sir Pentious/Alastor
Comments: 22
Kudos: 114





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hey! Guess who's got *another* fic up their sleeve! We were tossing around the idea of a few different AUs and this little baby came about as a result. Quick shoutout to Puff and everyone in the chat who helped smooth out some rough edges as we were working things out (y'all are blessings).
> 
> Don't forget to comment and kudos if you enjoyed the work. We love your feedback! <3

**August 25th, 1918. Chilwell, Beeston, Nottingham, UK.**

“You are to stand a minimum of ten feet away from the inmate. You may not take anything out of the premises, and you may not tamper with any of the technology within them. You may see the inmates working; do not physically impose yourself on their work, and do not ask anything about their work. Your paperwork has yet to clear and this week is only a test period. Understand?”

Adam looks the man in the eyes, unperturbed by the seriousness sent back at him, and nods cheerily. “Keep distance, no touching things, no taking things, don’t disturb what they’re doing.” He nods again. “And all you want me to do is get them to talk to me about what they know? Without asking about their current work, of course.”

“Correct.” The guard nods softly as they continue to ride down the lift to its destination, shifting a touch, glancing at him, then away. “..Are you aware of the prisoners within this building? Who they are?”

“I am aware that they are demons, and I am aware they are incredibly dangerous individuals.” His smile tones down, the only offer of seriousness he’s willing to take. “I was told I’d be told before entering the rooms with them.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll recognize them. I’m only telling you now in case you don’t make it out the first day.” The guard turns to glance at him again. “Rosie Montgomery. Richard Brooks.”

His brows shoot up, using a short moment to start dredging up any and all information he had heard on those names. “Rosie Montgomery sounds familiar, but _Richard Brooks?”_ He stares like he’s hoping the man’s joking. “The same Richard Brooks who took potshots at multiple states in one of the first militarized airships made by his own _hands?”_

 _“And_ killed the Prime Minister of England, _and_ attacked London, _and_ burned several state capitals to the ground, _and_ is responsible for killing roughly over 100,000 people.” He gives him an icy glare. “That Richard Brooks.”

“And he’s been in a bunker for _how_ long?” Adam stares, then shakes his head. “Actually, never mind. I want him to tell me. If I need him talking, I need questions to ask. And Rosie Montgomery is....” He snaps his fingers. “She murdered someone, didn’t she? But it wasn’t normal.”

“She murdered 10 people over the course of 5 years to stave off competition for her clothing store, bought their businesses, and absorbed them into her own business branch.” The guard turns back around. “Murdered 30 more before she finally got shot. Then she crawled out of the grave and continued to make chaos.”

“Quite the spin on _lady killer_ if you ask me.” He rubs the back of his neck. “And all to make some dough. A businesswoman. Intriguing. Anything else I should know about before stepping in with the sharks?”

“Have you ever actually seen a demon before?” He glances toward him again, raising a brow.

“Er....” He considers the litany of options he could say, both truths and lies and mixes thereof. “I’ve seen pictures! Quite the sharp teeth, I understand.”

The guard shakes his head and sighs as the lift finally slowly lowers to a stop. “The teeth should be the last of your concerns, pal. They may hold the names of the living, but I’m telling you right now; they’re far from human anymore.” The doors slowly open to reveal a large cement hallway, lightbulbs hidden behind bars, and he moves to start walking. “You’ll be visiting Brooks first. His request.”

“His request,” he repeats, following him closely. “So, if you’re right - and I believe you are right - that I shouldn’t worry about teeth, what should I worry about?”

“Well, technically, you _should_ worry about the teeth. They could easily rip out your throat or worse. But from what I’ve seen, Brooks doesn’t exactly seem the type to do that, so, with him, you probably don’t have to worry about getting bitten. What you do have to worry about is...” The man trails off, before simply shrugging. “You’ll see in a second.”

“How ominous.” He chuckles lightly, at the very least to have something to fill the air. “How long do I have with them? Or do I get to decide?” He gives him a wide smile.

“Considering the circumstances, it’s more like _they_ get to decide. If it helps any, I’ll be praying for you.” The man gives an idle shrug, as if admitting that he might witness Adam die a bloody and gruesome death is no skin off his nose in the least, before reaching an intersection in the hall, turning towards the left. At the left end was a singular door, metallic by the look of things, and appeared to be quite sturdy, almost amazingly so, and when the guard stopped in front of it, he lifted a hand to knock before pulling back a flat sheet and peering through it. “Mr. Brooks? The new Interviewer is here to see you. I’d rather not end this day having to clean up a mess, so no funny business, alright?”

There wasn’t a reply for a long moment, before a voice, surprisingly high-pitched, slightly accented, was heard through the slit in the door. “Of courssssse. Please, do send him in.” 

The guard sighs softly, closes the slit, and looks back toward him. “..You ready?”

There is something to be said about the sensation of hearing a dead-but-not-dead historical figure _speak_ from behind a single door, but he nods anyways, pushing any unseemly emotions to the side and beaming at the guard. “Never been more ready for anything in my life!”

“..Yeah. Hopefully it won’t be the last.” The man wraps a hand around the handle of the door, glancing at him again. “Get ready to slip inside the moment I open it, alright?”

“Of course.” He shifts closer to the door. “Has he ever tried to escape before?”

“No, but I don’t feel like taking any chances.” He slowly turns the handle of the door, and just the sound of it produces the clicking of several locks. “On three. One...two...” Within an instant the door pulls open and Adam feels a hand on his back that violently shoves him forward, and all he can process for a moment is nothing more than smeared colors in his vision before he feels himself fumble and fall flat on his face with a dull _thump._ He takes a moment to lay there, a bit stunned as to what just happened, and it registers, ever so briefly, that his face is not smushed against cold concrete, but rather soft, plush carpeting.

After a moment of silence, he hears that accented voice come up again. “Heheh. Not the best of entrances, I’m afraid. But also not the worsssst.”

Adam blinks, pushing himself upright and looking toward the direction of the voice, still slightly in disbelief. “I... He just _pushed me.”_ He dusts himself off, standing fully. “Tch. Well, at least it’s an entrance to remember me by. The name’s Adam Walker, though I imagine you know that already.”

The creature that was standing (sitting?) before him was certainly not one that he ever truly expected. It wasn’t exactly right to call him a man, even though that’s what he technically used to be, but what his eyes saw, what his mind processed, was something that he’d never thought he’d see in the living flesh. It looked somewhat normal enough, with a face that could almost be considered human, though there were things about it that definitely seemed...off. What was once skin was piercing ebony scales, smooth, like that of a serpent, teeth sharpened into massive shark-like fangs that seemed to glint in the light around them, and the eyes that stared back at him were burning, bright, a deep pink hue, two slit-like pupils staring back with an almost shimmering glance of amusement and malice. A hat stood atop his head, one that carried it’s own fanged grin, eye narrowed in an almost goading look, and his upper torso was clad in a rather clean, rather fancy looking coat, complete with a frilled undershirt and a black bow tie to top it all off, another eye peeking between the cloth to stare at him, right in the middle of his chest. Were it not for the long mane of black hair, Adam wouldn’t have considered at all for this to be the same man that once was the Master Of The Skies, but proof, no matter how slight, was undeniable.

It wasn’t until he saw something flicker in the corner of his vision that he realized that this demon had a tail, a tail that slowly thickened into a massive scaled hide, loop upon loop of a coiled frame stacked on top of each other in a lazy pile, scales a glittering black flecked with lines of gold, and he swore that he spotted even more eyes, staring at him, glowing that same pink hue that almost hurt to look at. He sees the demon’s smile curl, exposing more fangs, more vicious teeth, and he slowly unfurls a hand, claws glittering in the light, to gesture at a rounded table he was currently sitting behind, decorated with soft white fabric, a tea cup in a hand. He spoke, softly, tongue flickering out between his teeth. “To be honessst, they never told me your name. They never tell us the names of the new Interviewers, lesssst they don’t last the day.” He tilts his head, ever so slightly. “I take it you know who _I_ am?”

“I’d be a horrible guest to not know of such an infamous egg! Historically ignorant to top it off.” He grins widely at him, straightening his own bowtie and taking a few steps toward him. “I’m afraid I’ll have to stay standing. I’m on strict orders to keep ten feet away at all times.” He exhales dramatically, rolling his eyes with the practiced ease of commiserating with dozens of soldiers over lukewarm meals. He takes note of the bookshelf set against the wall behind Richard Brooks, velvet curtains set against another wall that _definitely_ did not have a window. A variety of wooden furniture fills the room, a few odd, display worthy plates under vases and drawers perhaps filled with tablecloths and napkins or other more interesting things. “It’s quite the swanky place you got here. Are you sure you’re the one under arrest? You must be bleeding someone’s pocket dry.”

“Ssstrict orders, you say?” That gets Brooks’s head to tilt ever so slightly, and he chuckles a touch, shaking his head. “Oh, please, the only _strict_ orders they give anyone who works down in this place is the order of ‘shoot us dead if we end up breaking out of the cell.’ Though that doesn’t happen as much nowadays, as you can imagine.” He sips at a tea cup he held in a hand, his pinky finger pointed upwards in a fashion that was eerily noble. He narrows his eyes slightly as he sets the tea back down, still smirking. “As for bleeding pockets, I think it’s safe to say the military won’t be running out of money any time sssoon.” His tail idly flicks, as if gesturing all around the room. “You could sssay all of this is my “reward” for being so cooperative with their needs.”

“Ah, I see. A bit of tit-for-tat.” He nods, openly looking around the place. “I’m not entirely familiar with the idea myself, coming from poor ol’ Louisiana. Not much a person such as I can swindle from higher management.” He tilts his head at him. “Do you know how to play any instruments?”

He raises a brow, a soft rattling noise seeming to come from nowhere as the tips of his hair almost seem to _shiver._ “Insstruments, you say? Hmm..” He tilts his head a touch. “..I do know how to play the organ.”

“Ooh, I’ve heard that’s infamously difficult to play.” He takes a step forward. “I was always bored as a child, so I’ve dabbled with pianos and fiddles and things of that sort. I’m considering trying out saxophones next.”

“Saxophones you say?” Brooks seems to look him up and down at that. “You’ll need ssstrong lungs to pull off those kinds of instruments. Otherwise you’ll end up passing out the moment you try to do a solo.” He chuckles a touch at the thought.

“Haha! So I’ve been told.” His grin widens, a few more chuckles slipping past him. He puts his hands in his pockets, trying to hide the awkwardness of the motion. It still feels weird being out of uniform. “Don’t worry, I’ve been singing since before my memory starts. Absolutely drove my parents insane, no doubt.”

“Ah, I can imagine.” He flicks his tail again. “Though, that makes me wonder..” His eyes narrow, and his hair slowly begins to lift upwards, unfurling open to display a yellow pattern beneath, as well as even _more_ bright, shining eyes, heavy with that same strange pink hue, leering at him with thin obsidian pupils. “What exactly is someone like you doing down here?”

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He chuckles again, but shrugs. "Seems I asked too many questions, so they've brought me to the place they think I won't walk out of."

“Ah, I see.” His tail flicks a touch at that, and his eyes seem to the door beyond him. “So you believe they tossssed you in here on the hopes that you’d get killed...” He smirks, and again, that rattling noise accompanies the sight of his hairtips shaking. “Luckily for you, I’m in no interesssst of being their attack dog.” His coils go a bit more slack against the legs of the table. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit?”

“Hm. Well....” He glances over his shoulder, keeping Brooks in his peripheries, and presses his lips together. Then he turns back, shrugs, laughs, and closes the distance to the chair. “I suppose I may as well break a few rules in case this is my last day, shouldn’t I?” He pulls the chair back and sits, grinning pleasantly. “I have to admit, I enjoy coffee more than tea, but the smell is fabulous.”

Brooks can’t help but smirk a touch, moving to pour him his own cup. “I ssssadly don’t get the chance to brew my own in here. They fear I might ssstart scheming to do something with the flames if they ever gave me an oven. Thankfully, I _do_ get my own choice in tea.” He places the cup down in front of him.

Adam eyes the hand sliding the cup toward him, delicate and precise and tipped in sharp crimson talons. The tail gives the slightest twitch, seemingly getting more comfortable, and he finds himself recalling how constrictors tend to catch their prey. “Fire is quite the deadly instrument. I’d hate to see these curtains catch. Oh, and, thank you for the tea, uh....” He tilts his head. “What should I call you? I understand you used a variety of titles in your past. I’d hate to use the wrong one.”

“Mm. Did they tell you to call me by my old name?” Brook’s smirk gains a bit of an edge at that, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “No, no, if you’re going to call me anything, my good man, call me by my _proper_ title. _Sir Pentious.”_ His hair rattles yet again, and he moves to take a sip of his tea, lowering it after a moment. “Jusssst because I went and died doesn’t mean I have to go and give up the name everyone knows me by, now do I?”

“Of course, of course. Whatever makes you more comfortable, Sir Pentious.” He brings his cup up to take a sip, just to be courteous. “I must admit it’s rather... strange saying your name out loud. It’s almost a taboo in certain circles.” He chuckles. “To some people, you’re quite the boogeyman.”

“Oh, no doubt in my mind about that.” His smirk loses it’s foul edge and gains a bit more mirth to it. “Ohh, I can only imagine how many people prayed to their Gods, hoping and wishing with all their might that I would ssssimply stay _dead_.” His tail flicks under the table, thumping against the floor. “I wonder how many had their faithssss crushed the moment I woke up from my death.”

“I can only imagine. You’re... quite the formidable individual. I think the nation was shellshocked by both your death and your... Do people really call it resurrection? Rebirth?”

“Hmm.” He tilts his head a touch at that, tongue flickering out of his mouth. “I’ve heard it desssscribed in many ways. Resurrection, Rebirth, Undeath, Transformation, Second Chance, Becoming, Ascension..” He gives an idle shrug. “Dependsss on the person, really.” He narrows his eyes a touch, lips finally closing over his grin. “..What would _you_ call it?”

“Me?” Adam raises his brows. “I honestly haven’t thought about it. I suppose... rebirth comes first to mind, though not particularly for religious reasons. Why do you ask?”

“Hmmm. Call it sssimple curiosity. It’s a quessstion we all have to face at some point, I suppose.” He gives a soft shrug, tail flicking as his hair slowly begins to deflate. “After all, you never know what will come next in death. You don’t know if you’ll end up cold in the ground, or climb out of the ssssoil born anew. And if in the event you do, what will you do?” His eyes almost seem to bore into him at that, as if eager for an answer.

“To be perfectly honest, I thought I knew up until a few weeks ago.” He smirks, playing it cool under that gaze. “But, unfortunately, that information is classified.”

He raises a brow, clearly intrigued, but lets out a chuckle, his lips pulling back up to display his teeth. “Ah, I see. Don’t want to give away too much at once, I see. Perfectly understandable.”

“As I have implied earlier, I’m not in the best position to be running my mouth on certain subjects. I’m already viewed as expendable; I’d rather not be seen as a threat. By anyone, of course.” Adam blows at his tea, watching the liquid ripple and the steam stumble about. “Although, I do believe I’ll be keeping _some_ information to myself. It certainly wouldn’t do for me to tell you everything when we may very well have more time on our hands.”

“I hold no blame on your part for thosssse decisions.” He gives him a bit of a glance up and down, leaning forward just a touch, an elbow pressed to the table. “They _have_ told you what you’ll be doing in here, right?”

“Oh, yes, indeed. They want me to get you talking about your deepest, darkest secrets and spilling as much important information as possible. But you aren’t going to tell anyone anything unless you want to.” He looks up from his tea, eyes narrowed, searching for _something,_ though he isn’t entirely sure what. “You’re not the type to simply flap your gums at the drop of a hat, and, to be _entirely_ honest, I don’t know a thing you’d want in return for talking. I’m not saying I won’t try, but I can tell someone who knows a good game when he sees one.”

“Hmm.” He smirks, hard enough to show off a sliver of teeth. “Sssssmart one, aren’t you? Good. The dumb ones don’t usually last very long in this sort of job.” His tail flicks back and forth, slowly, as if in idle thought. “As far as I’m concerned, the only thing I’d want at thisss point is to not get tied to a crosss and shipped off to the Angels to be slaughtered when the Purge comes, which, consssidering the arrangement I have here, isn’t likely to happen anytime soon..” He glances around at his room. “..I suppose if we must discusssss needs and wants, we can start smaller.”

“Of course.” Adam follows his gaze, seeing all the lavish adornments. There’s a door, currently closed and nearly blending into the wall, that seemingly leads into another room. “I don’t have much sway at the moment, but I’m certain if I walk out of here with something to show my higher ups, I’d be taken a bit more seriously.”

“Hmm....Something to show, you say?” His gaze flicks back to him, his grin fading now. “What do you proposssse, exactly?”

“I’m sure there’s something you know that you haven’t told the government about.” He shrugs lightly, continuing to smile. “It doesn’t have to be big, no flashy blueprints or anything, but... If there’s anything I know about your past, it’s that there are a lot of holes in it. Not personal, of course, but, ah, professional, if you will. One of the questions I’ve seen the public ask is how much ammunitions and weaponry you really made, and if there are any, say, stockpiles hidden somewhere.” He could feel himself reaching on this, walking on thin enough ice with how little he could remember from history books and small class discussions. But it was feasible, in his opinion.

“Hmm..” His tongue flickers out, and his eyes narrow softly, his grin now completely gone. Adam feels the hair prickle on the back of his neck, suddenly just how aware of how utterly alone the two of them were. How defenseless he is with this mastermind of a maniac, practically inches away from him, made a monster in death. Finally, after a long moment, Pentious speaks, softly. “...Illinois. 50 miles just off the state border of Indiana. A ghost town, the remnant of an old gold mining settlement.”

“Illinois, 50 miles off Indiana, in a ghost town.” Adam raises a brow, feeling relief hit him for a moment before he stamps it down, still unsure about the look on Pentious’ face. “I don’t suppose I get to know what’s waiting there, do I?”

“That’s not your job to find out, I’m afraid.” He finally smirks a touch at that. “Your job means you pass my word to the ones who run this whole operation. Simple as that.”

“Oh, you really _are_ cruel.” He lets his grin fan out, lets it grab the spotlight for the moment. “I’m such a curious man and here you are, giving me exactly what I ask for and leaving out the best parts.”

“Heheh. Do you expect anything less, my good man?” His hair rattles, as if flattered by the praise, and he splays a hand against his chest. “I may be a monster, but I’m _also_ a master at performance.”

“Oh, a master at performance?” He leans forward on the table, curious. “Any tips? I’ve been considering going into the business for a time now. Radio shows and whatnot.”

“Hmm..” Pentious rests his chin in his palm, talons trilling against his lips in thought, eyes narrowing, as if trying to map this man out. Finally, he lifts his chin back up and points a single claw towards him. “Always have a glass of water on standby. You won’t believe how quickly your voice loses steam after rambling for several minutes straight, and radio business goes on for even longer than ssssimple speeches. Practice makes perfect in that regard, so the longer you work at the job, the longer you’ll be able to talk without sounding like a dying ssssteam engine.” He pauses, tongue flicking out his mouth, as if to think. Then he straightens himself up a little bit, puffing his chest out slightly, as of demonstrating. “Don’t slouch. It’s best to keep your back straight like ssso, in order to help more air fill the lungs and bolster your voice. Be _loud,_ but don’t _ssscream._ Be _firm,_ but don’t sssound like you’ll ssstrangle someone’s mother if they don’t lisssten to you. It’s all about endurance and control of the voice, you see. Get that part right, choose your wordssss carefully, and you’ll have everyone who hearssss you practically eating out of the palm of your hand.”

Adam blinks at him, a bit surprised to get an honest answer from the man. His lips stretch out, both in disbelief and a strange sense of satisfaction. Adam, a nobody from Louisiana, getting advice from _the_ Sir Pentious? Apparently the impossible does happen on occasion. He straightens at the remark on slouching, unable to keep from giggling at the idea of _his_ voice sounding like he was going to strangle someone. He works rather hard on sounding as ridiculously and tooth dissolving-ly pleasant as possible. “You make a lot of good points. I’ll have to keep that all in mind.”

“Believe me, my good man, you’ll need them.” He moves to take another sip of his tea at that, and when he places the cup down, a soft smirk is tugging up his lips. “Ssssomething tells me you might jussst last the day. Call it a hunch.” He glances toward the door, then back towards him. “Little bit of advice for Rosie; don’t insssult her clothing. It’s the equivalent of sssspitting on someone’s baby because it’s got a fly rink.”

“Fly rink?” He tilts his head, then shrugs. “Hm. She likes clothing. I can work with that. How is she with visitors? Or do you not know?”

“Mm..” He tilts his head a touch, as if in thought, his tail flicking back and forth in the corner of Adam’s view. “...She’s much more _inclined_ to be friendly to visssitors, if that’s a good indication of anything. She’ll be a downright gigglemug about the whole thing, and as long as you don’t make her angry, she probably will do little more than pinch your cheek and gently shoo you out the door with all of your teeth intact.’

“Ah, I see.” He considers that all, the need for him to not overstep boundaries he didn’t know and the likelihood he’s going to be seeing someone in a rather good mood despite being stuck underground for who knows how long. He should probably have been going over his own boundaries with Pentious, but that would be presumptuous. So maybe he shouldn’t with Rosie? Unless it comes up. He snaps out of his mind as the room goes quiet for just a touch too long. “Well, is there anything else on your mind, or should we call it quits for the day?”

“..Hmm..” Pentious’s tail flickers again beneath the table, before shaking his head. “No, no, it’s probably best to not keep Rosie waiting. From what she’s told me, she’s been rather eager to meet you.”

“From what I’ve been told, you both seemed rather eager to meet me.” He chuckles lightly and carefully stands up from his seat.

“Heheh.” Pentious flashes a toothy grin at that, and his hair rattles yet again, shivering against his neck. “In all fairnessss to us, my good man, anyone who _willingly_ sssteps into these cells to meet monsters like us must be either quite brave or quite stupid. And you don’t seem stupid.”

“Who’s to say bravery and stupidity aren’t the same thing?” He chuckles again, holding his hand out to him out of habit. He’s reminded of the fact that he shouldn’t even be close enough to _offer_ to shake his hand, but he doesn’t pull away. Never renege on simple offers. “It’s been a pleasure meeting with you. Hopefully this isn’t the last time we’ll get to talk.”

Pentious seems to blink at the offer of his hand, but his smile doesn’t once twitch down, and he chuckles, his coils sliding against the ground as he seems to rise up to a more proper height, and suddenly Adam finds his head craning upwards just to look this man in the face. His claws reach out and ensnare his hand in a shake, and he can feel the strength of those talons, the sharpness of their tips against his skin as Pentious’s scaly palm presses against his own, remarkably warm for something of supposedly cold blood. He never considered demons to be warm. Pentious’s voice is a pleasant hum against his ears. “I’m glad to say I agree, my good man. What did you say your name was, again?”

“Erm.” He mentally curses himself for speaking before he was ready, clearing his throat and trying to push aside the mental calculations regarding how tall the man must be. “Adam Walker, Sir. But just Adam is fine.” He tries to grin as normal, but he can’t quite tell if he manages to pull it off.

“Heheh. Adam Walker. Quite the name for an impending radio ssstar.” He chuckles a touch. “I look forward to your firsssst broadcast.” He lets go of his hand, coils shifting as he lowers himself back down.

“I’ll make sure to tell you which station I’m on. And, actually, do you have a radio? And is there any signal?” He tilts his head, brows furrowing at the thought.

“Indeed.” He points a claw toward that one door that almost seems to blend into the wall. “It’ssss been modified so I can’t broadcast anything myself, but I can receive them jussst fine.”

Adam beams again, nodding. “That’s good, very good. I’ll keep you updated on my end. _If_ I play things right with Rosie, of course.” He chuckles at his own potential demise, tipping a fake hat toward him and turning toward the door he’d come in. “Have a good evening, Sir Pentious.”

“And you as well, Adam. Good luck.” His hand moves up to tip his hat, which was also smiling at him.

He walks to the door, feeling those many, many eyes on his back and waiting for a potential strike. He barely feels the metal of the doorknob in his hand as he twists it, only to be instantly reminded it was _locked_. He huffs softly and knocks against the door. “We’re done talking. Can you open the door, please?”

For a moment, there wasn’t an answer, before the slit on the door opens up to reveal the soldier’s eyes staring back at him, widening in disbelief. Within an instant, the slit slides shut, and the clicks of the locks ring out just long enough for the door to open, and Adam feels a hand grip his wrist and yank him through.

“Oh, can you-” He shakes himself free, stumbling into the hallway and taking a few steps away from the man. _“Do not_ go about shoving and pulling me around as you please. I find it quite unpleasant and uncomfortable.”

“Learn to slip through the door fast enough and I won’t need to.” The man turns to glance at him as he slams the door shut once more, staring with a seemingly bewildered expression. “How the fuck are you not dead?”

“You didn’t even give me any time to-” Adam huffs, straightening his clothes as if he had been tumbled in a laundry machine. “As I’ve been telling everyone, I’m good at talking. And for your information...” He looks up at him, locking their gazes. “He told me there’s something in an old gold mining town in Illinois, fifty miles from the border to Indiana. He didn’t say _what_ it was, but there’s something there.”

The man looks stunned to say the least, and he slowly frowns, brow furrowing in seeming confusion. “..Really? He told you something like that? Right off the bat?”

"Well, not immediately, but after a bit of conversation? Yes." He smooths his shirt down again. "Somewhat unsurprisingly, demons who were once humans enjoy a good talk every now and then." He gives him a once over, then turns and starts walking away, back to where they had come from. "Well, now! I have someone else to talk to! Best not to keep the madame waiting."

The guard can’t help but stare at the man, walking away with such a chipper tone to his voice and a skip in his step, as if having been in the same room as one of the most terrifying beasts on Earth was nothing more than a walk in the park. He takes a moment to glance through the slit again, just to see Sir Pentious’s eyes, all of them, staring right back at him from a distance behind that table, and he feels his blood turn icy as he jerks his head back. He lets the slit slide shut again, and huffs, turning to walk after this strange kid, knowing for a fact that just shooting him and getting his death over with was out of the question. No, he needed to die by a demon’s hands to make it look realistic, and sooner or later, it would happen. He just had to bide his time. 

After all, everyone knew that working with demons was a death sentence. He just had to wait for the reaper to knock on the man’s door.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six months have passed and Adam gets a charming new visitor. Shenanigans ensue.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Don’t forget to hit that kudos and comment about your favorite parts!

**February 10th, 1919. Chilwell, Beeston, Nottingham, UK.**

“ _Another_ set of clothes? You’re going to break a record at this rate.”

“It’s not another _set_ , it’s another pair. I want to see how the red and tan go together. Just try the jacket and pants. Your dress shirt should be fine.”

“And this will be the last one for today?”

“No promises!”

“Ugh.” Adam shrugs himself out of his current suit jacket, and pants, quickly pulling on the clothes Rosie had hooked over the doorknob, smoothing any wrinkles he sees in the mirror and sprucing his collar. He checks to make sure all the buttons are buttoned (yes, all of them, what else are they for?) and straightens his hair. “Remind me again why I bother doing this again?”

“Because we’re friends, dear! Don’t tell me you forgot such a thing! I’d be positively heartbroken!” There was a soft little chortle.

“Oh, really? Doesn’t that assume you still have a heart?” He laughs in return, giving himself another once over before walking toward the door. “Okay, I’m decent.”

“Oooh! I can’t wait! Come on, darling, show me!”

He lets out a soft sigh and a roll of his eyes before opening the door and stepping out into the main room of Rosie’s prison cell. It was certainly a lot bigger when compared to Pentious’s own cell, the walls much more thicker, lined with sheets of metal, though said metal looked to be coated in sheets of paint, a massive wall of fuchsia, lined with deep, intricate swirls of red and orange, twisting across the walls like ornate tree branches. Long swathes of fabric hung up on the walls in hooks, curving up and down, lining up near the ceiling, and even the lights above were covered in lines of beads to resemble that of a chandelier. There was a soft carpet that lined the floor, decorated black with white stripes (or was it white with black stripes), and arranged up on several cardboard pedestals of varying sizes were fabric mannequins, decorated in variously outrageous outfits that were dripping with glamour, oriented towards both men and women. There was a large silk bed pushed into the northern corner of the room, a short pair of steps leading up to it, and a full length mirror on wheels was poised right in front of Adam as he stepped out of the door. He sees Rosie’s head peek out from behind the mirror, her empty eye sockets crinkling with mirth, her obnoxiously large wide brimmed hat with a giant pink feather wobbling as she moves, and she chuckles as soon as she catches sight of him. “Oh, you look fabulous, dear! Absolutely perfect! Give me a little spin, dear, just to see it at all angles.”

His grin widens a little, perhaps more at hearing her excited about the look than anything else. He slowly turns around in a circle, holding his arms out and letting her see all his sides. “It’s incredibly comfortable, I’ll say that much.”

“Of course it is, dear, I may be many things, but I’m certainly not an _amateur_ .” She flashes a wide, toothy grin at that, giving him another once over. “You know you can _keep_ that outfit if you really want to. The offer is always open, if you ever see something you like.”

“Kind, as always, but I’ll have to politely decline.” He faces her again, grinning and tucking his arms behind his back. “They’re much too high quality for a simple man as myself. Maybe, in the future, I’ll get the opportunity to _buy_ your work, but for now I’ll be content with modeling for you.”

“Hmm.” Her grin seems to fade a touch at that, but she dismisses it with a simple shake of her head, and a flap of the hand. “If you say so. It’s your loss, either way. You’ll be behind when the absolute _best_ in fashion comes around and I’ll say nothing but “I told you so.”

He sighs lightly, fidgeting with his cuffs. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be allowed to. It’s part of the rules, as I’ve told you before, and I’m not in a position to go about breaking them.” He widens his smile. “But I will _gladly_ take any ridicule when my dress goes out of style.”

“Hmph. You’d better, dear.” She eyes his fidgeting and lets out a chuckle. “You can go ahead and change now. I swear, this is the last one for the day.”

“Thank you.” His grin relaxes a touch and he nods, turning back to the changing room. He closes and locks the door, carefully removing the designer suit and replacing it with an admittedly run-of-the-mill vest and dress shirt. He looks over the dozens of hangers full of clothes that he had tried on for her. “Maybe it’s my preference, but I do like the longer sleeves. Much more classy than what I usually see.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind for outfits for next week!” There was the sound of the mirror being pushed across the carpet, likely to it’s original place in the room. “So, how have things been, dear? Any new orders from your big bosses? Any new “demands” that I “need to follow?” It was clear from the way her voice enunciates those words that she wasn’t taking them very seriously.

Adam sighs lightly to himself, sitting down to pull his socks and shoes on. As strangely amicable as these demons could be, they were nonetheless incredibly frustrating at times. “Apparently you’ve been providing too much cutting edge fashion to your Canadian and French branches and not enough to the British, American, and Spanish ones. Something about leveling the international playing field.”

“Oh, for the love of-“ She makes a huffing sound and he doesn’t even need to see her face to know that she’s baring her teeth in a sneer of malice. “It’s not _my_ fault the French and Canadian buyers are able to _afford_ the latest offers from my business! If I was up on the surface and handling all of my shipping documents, I’d be able to handle everything and not have to deal with this annoying _pissing contest_!”

“Ah, of course, my dear.” He finds himself glad to have a door between him and her, at least for the time being. He starts lacing his shoes. “I told them you weren’t going to enjoy hearing their input, but they insisted on me telling you. I believe there was a complaint as well.” He braces himself. “Some big wig thought one of your women’s lines were too, er... I believe the word used was _gaudy_.”

“ _Gaudy_ ?!” There was yet another loud huff, much more furious, and came the sound of stomping as Rosie grudges and paced back and forth across the room. “Ohh, I’ll show that _dunderhead_ what gaudy is! I’ll stuff his corpse full of cotton and hang him by the neck over his own roof in the most _hideous_ outfits I can make! I’ll make him so awful that not even the Devil will want him and he’ll come back as a demon simply because his soul is too _horrendously putrid_ to go anywhere!”

“Ah-” He stares at the door, wondering if it would be a good idea to try and interrupt her, but can’t help but chuckle a little at her comments and wait for them to die down a touch. He walks toward the door. “I don’t know what they had a problem with, but I can only imagine they’re worried about how conservative the market is. It’s one thing to rake in some cash, but it’s another...” He steps into the main room. “...to worry about certain indecencies.”

It didn’t appear as if Rosie had broken anything, but there did appear to be a large piece of paper between her talons that was surely shredded behind repair, crumpled violently in between her hands as if it was someone’s wrung neck, and when Adam steps out from behind the door, she gives him a venomous glare that’s both scathing as it is mildly apprehensive. “Oh, what do they know about “indecency”? Last time I checked a woman showing off her god damn _ankles_ was fucking indecent twenty years ago! A man will go and label just about anything indecent if it means putting a woman down!” She turns and throws the paper over her shoulder, running her hands down her face, growling to herself. “God damn _pigs_ is what they are, Adam. Be glad you’re not a pig. You would be dead by now if you were.”

“Of course, my dear.” He crosses his arms behind his back again, brows knitting together. “If it helps at all, I do believe their take on the market is quite a bit flawed. There have been more and more dresses with shorter hemlines and sleeves than I recall... ever seeing. I know I’m a bit of a shut-in, but it is what I’ve personally noticed.” He scratches his jaw, walking further into the room and picking up his notepad, which he was sure Rosie had at least glanced at.

“They just want to try and undermine my grip on the fashion industry. They want to try and take away my work while I’m trapped down here.” She grumbles softly as she moves to sit down at a table in the middle of the room, huffing as she slides her hat off to reveal a bun, to which she goes about fixing it, occasionally pulling out a pin or two before shoving it back into a different spot in her hair. “I killed people to get to where I am now, do they really think they can rip it away from me when I’m undead?”

“I don’t believe so, madame, but I do believe they mentioned something about _politicians_ .” He walks over, taking the seat across from her. “I doubt they’d go to such lengths any time soon, but there may be politicians who could try policing certain fashion industries to appease their constituents or donors. You’d take a hit _if_ that happened, but it’s a shot in the dark at best. No guarantees.”

“If they do that, I’m burning this whole prison to the ground and marching my way to the White House itself.” She places her hat back atop her head, still scowling.

“And I’ll... tell my superiors that.” He pulls his pen out of his pant pocket, scribbling down _Vocalized murderous intent connected to threatened business_ on the next open line. “In more palatable words, of course.”

“Hmmm.” She gives him a bit of a glare at that, but it’s much more subdued, and she glances away just as quick. “...If they want more shipments sent to Britain and America, consider it done. I’ll just need a day or two to complete the proper paperwork. Just make sure none of those flour-flushers get their hands on _my_ business.”

“And Spain. They sounded rather urgent about Spain for some reason.” He taps his pen against his paper, shrugging at the next look she gives him.

“Ugh. _And_ Spain. Just make sure they stick to the deal, you hear me?” She jabs a claw towards him. “Get those politicians off my back, or else it’s no deal.”

“Of course. I’ll make it abundantly clear that you’ll do everything in your power to single handedly take down massive portions of the economy if they refuse to continue their deal with you.” He grins at her, jotting it down on his paper. “I’ll _also_ tell them you’ve taken their suggestions into account, but found them baseless given certain data. If they pull the line, it would count as a violation of the deal, and so on and so forth.”

She goes quiet for a moment, before a smile pulls up her lips, and she lets herself chuckle. “..You’re a peach, you know that, dear?” She reaches over and gives his cheek a quick pinch, her talons feeling quite hard, _sharp_ even with the gloves that cover her hands.

“Agh-” He closes one of his eyes at the pinch, having to turn away from his notes, and rubs at the spot as she lets go of him. “So you keep saying.” He can’t help but chuckle a little, finishing what he had been writing. “You’re never going to stop doing that, are you?”

“Of course not. Tis a staple of our friendship, dear. Like a handshake.” She gives him a more cheeky grin at that, shark-tooth smile and all.

“Like a handshake,” he repeats, a tinge of sarcasm to his tone. He chuckles more at her continued grin and leans back, setting his notepad in his lap to show he was done with notes, for the time being. “I’d say pinching cheeks is a bit of a stretch from a handshake.”

“It isn’t in my book. Not when I’m at least 30 years older than you, dear.”

Adam snorts, covering his face at the sound, and lets himself laugh at that. “Okay, okay. I will _humbly_ bow down to your superior wisdom.”

“Of course you will.” She snickers a touch at that, smirking. “So, dear, any big news from the outside? What’s it like out there now that the war is starting to simmer down?”

“Um, it’s, well....” He shifts in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “ _Different_ , definitely. Everyone’s gone and had their parties, but now they’re realizing it’s going to take ages to actually get back to normal, if it’s even possible. There are still people overseas, and the negotiations are ongoing.... Everyone’s still holding their breath, honestly.”

“Mm, I see.” She nods softly, her grin fading away at that. “I can imagine. The world’s never seen a war on this scale, after all.”

“It’s looking good, though! Peace negotiations and all.” His smile widens again. “I heard that my troop is spending their time in France until they can come home, too. Probably up to their noses in fine wines, if I know them at all.”

“Ah, wine you say?” She chuckles a touch at that. “Between you and me? I can’t stand the stuff. Doesn’t matter what kind. I much prefer the harder drinks. The kind that can knock a man right off his feet and leave him with a black eye in the morning.”

“Really? I mean, I think I’ve seen you with whiskey once or twice, so I shouldn’t be surprised.” He smirks. “Have you ever had London gin? Or moonshine?”

“Can’t say that I have, dear.” She raises a brow, looking amused. “Have _you_ ever had hard vodka?”

"When I was fourteen, yeah." He doesn't bat an eye.

That seems to catch her off guard, because she actually lets out a sharp snort before tipping her head back in a loud guffaw, holding a hand in front of her face as she does so, sockets crinkling up in absolute mirth. “ _Ohohohohohoho_!”

Adam joins her in her laughter, smirking at the successful catch. "What can I say? I grew up right outside of _the_ alcohol capital of the country."

“I know, I know, but-Good _God_ , darling, _fourteen_?!” She raises a brow, still smirking. “What kind of people were you walking around with that you were given vodka that young?”

"Giving me vodka?" He blinks at her over his nose. "No, no. I took it out of the liquor cabinet and poured myself a glass on the back porch."

“Heheh. Is that so?” She smirks at him. “Wanted to be a big man, did you?”

"More like I enjoyed breaking rules." He chuckles, leaning an elbow on the table.

“And how exactly did that whole thing work out for you, hm?” She raises a brow at that.

"Oh, I was grounded for _quite_ some time. But I had a good night."

“Surprised you didn’t burn your throat.” She chuckles and shakes her head a touch at that, but after a moment, her grin disappears entirely, and she slowly lifts her eyes up toward the door leading to the rest of the prison. She doesn’t say a word, and the fabric of her gloves begins to glow, ever so softly.

"I handle alcohol rather..." Adam narrows his eyes as she shifts her attention, then glances down to her hands as they glow. "...well. Is everything alright, Rosie?"

She doesn’t answer for a moment, her hands slowly clenching down into fists, and for a moment, that glow seems to fester in it’s intensity, flickering ever so slightly, before it fades. Rosie’s expression doesn’t change, but her shoulders slowly drop in the tension they held. “...It seems they caught another one..”

"Caught another..." He looks over his shoulder at the door, then takes in a breath and turns back to her. "How... do you know? Can you sense them?"

She shakes her head a touch, as if dispelling a daze, and sighs softly, her hands uncurling. “..Adam, dear-“ 

She’s cut off by the sound of the door’s slit being opened up, and the eyes of a guard peer through it. “Mr. Walker? You’re needed on the tenth floor.”

"Immediately?" He stands from his chair, holding his notepad close to his chest. His smile thins as nerves start cropping up a bit. If Rosie could somehow sense a demon from this far away.... He tries not to think about it.

“Immediately.” The guard’s eyes narrow. “Come on, I don’t have all day.”

"Coming." He walks toward the door, turning a few feet from the exit to address Rosie. "We'll continue our conversation tomorrow. Should be less political, more financial."

Rosie stares at him for a moment or two before she nods, softly. “Be careful.”

"As always!" He grins widely at her, then turns back to the door, knocking on it and slipping outside when the door opens.

The door securely locks shut, and the guard turns around to start walking down the hall. “Anything to report from Montgomery?”

"She's not happy, but she agreed to moving shipments around." He follows him, tucking his pen into his pocket. "She didn't budge on the Margarite line, and says cutting it without her permission would violate the contracts she's made. Is there any information on the new demon?"

“Here.” The guard moves to hand him a clip board. “It’s what we could find, but let me tell you, it’s not much.”

Adam takes the board, shuffling it on top of his notepad, and then turns it over this way and that. “It’s... what is this? Three pages? Four?” He flicks up the cover page, scanning over the lines. “John Doe. We don’t even know his name yet? No age, no birthdate. One point six meters. What’s that? Five... three? Why isn’t there a weight?”

“They _tried_ to weigh him, key word being try.” The guard scratches at his beard for a moment before shrugging. “They said he broke it.”

“He _broke_ the scale?” He looks up at him. “While in custody? _Applesauce_ !” He brings the clipboard to his nose to make sure he’s reading the words correctly. “He _surrendered_ himself after killing five civilians and buying _fudge_? In Birmingham? That’s barely a hop away from here!”

“Yup. Police on the scene reportedly said that nothing ever touched him. People would just point their guns at him and suddenly..” He blows a raspberry while waving his hands in a fashion that mimics an explosion. “They just burst into fountains of blood.”

Adam stares at him, the both of them walking silently for a moment as the elevator comes into view. _"...What?"_

“I dunno, I didn’t read the fucking papers.” He taps at the clipboard. “Keep looking, I’m sure it’s in there. It’s all they’re talking about.”

He mutters under his breath, turning to the next page. A photograph of a cheery demon with bright red cheek marks, shark teeth, neatly made blond hair, a white and red top hat, and a ridiculously ritzy outfit stares back at him. The paragraph next to the image gives an overview of what he had already said, followed by corroboration of the rumors the guard was talking about. “God... Less fountains of blood and more like splatter paint. He’s been sighted in...” He shakes his head, slowing down a little. “His description matches ones sighted by soldiers during the war. And he’s been seen in America, Peru, France, Russia, Mexico....”

“All over the damn world it seems.” The guard presses the button on the elevator. “And yet we haven’t even heard a _peep_ of this guy until he showed up smack dab in the middle of a city, during rush hours in broad daylight.”

“Abilities may include: telekinesis, teleportation, increased strength, speaking with animals, transmutation of human....” He takes a deep breath, pressing his lips together and blinking at the words that follow. “Body count: unknown. Resistant to most sedatives.”

“Yup. They had to shoot him up with the really hardcore stuff, and even then, all it did was make him...” He pauses for a moment. “Well, from what it sounded like, it just made him drunk. At least a little loopy. Dunno if it’s worn off now, but all I can say is the fucker is on total lockdown.”

“On floor ten, you said.” Adam runs a hand over his face, letting the file flip closed. “Is he staying on floor ten?”

“I’m assuming so. No way would they let a demon like _him_ up mingling with the others. I’ve heard some of them mumbling about “a new soul” just when that bastard arrived. If he’s got the demons spooked, I don’t want to get anywhere near him.” He steps into the lift and holds the door for Adam. “They’re sending _you_ down there to interview him. See if you can get any answers on who he is or what he wants.”

He steps inside after him. “Of course. The prolific interviewer who hasn’t died in six months. Wonderful.” He taps his clipboard and notepad against his palm. “Is there a way of knowing if the magic suppressors are working without him using his magic?”

“Hmm...” The guard tilts his head a touch at that. “I’ve heard complaints about some folks getting nosebleeds when those things are turned on. Other than that, no fucking idea.” The guard shrugs. “The only way I know if those things are working are when the demons just don’t do anything.”

“Or... _pretend_ to not do anything?” He leans toward him, waiting for a response, and exhales when he gets none. “Great. I should have been looking into that earlier. But, well, no reason dwelling on the past!” He looks back at the report.

“If it’s worth anything to you, I hope you don’t explode.” The lift closes and starts to descend. “That snake bastard’s been as docile as a cat when you came around. Searching for a new Interviewer would just be a pain for everyone involved.”

“Yes, well, I’m not entirely sure our newest case will understand that.” Adam leans back against the far wall, staring at the ceiling.

“..Want me to be quiet for the ride down? Write down your last will?”

“Please, I wrote that _ages_ ago.” He exhales, though a small, weary smile is still on his face. “Everything goes to my mother. House, paycheck, bank account, everything. Diary buried in case there isn’t a body.”

“Mm. Good plan.” The guard nods a touch. “My stuff would’ve gone to my brother. He’d need it more than me.”

“Ugh, siblings. I don’t have any, luckily enough.” His smile widens at that, almost into a smirk. “I count myself lucky on that one.”

“Heh. Trust me, sometimes I’d wish the same damn thing.” He chuckles a touch at that. “He’s around 14 now. How old’s your mom?”

“She’ll be 43 in March. I’m hoping to get some time off to visit, but I’m not sure how chain of command feels about it.” He looks aside, staring at the doors. “She always liked lilies. Maybe I should see about sending her some.”

“Mm. I know how you feel. I’ve been wanting to go home for a _long_ time now. We all do.” He shifts a touch. “This whole world just went through Hell, and I think we all just need to take a moment to breathe.”

Adam turns back to look at him, not saying anything for a moment. “Not everyone gets the privilege of breathing.”

The guard doesn’t say anything for a moment. “...Right.” His tone makes it sound like he doesn’t really want to agree, but can’t help it.

There’s silence in the elevator, and then it dings, pulling to a stop, and the doors slide open. Adam walks forward without another word, clipboard and notepad clutched in front of him. The guard shifts a touch, before starting to walk after him, silent. There were many doors that lined the halls, most of them also that of prison cells, and all of them were eerily silent, as if there was no life to be found in them. The lights seemed to dim and flicker within their holds, and some were completely out. He shifts his notepad and clipboard under his arm to free one of his hands, a sense of impending dread filling him. He doesn’t let it show. This demon could use the slightest bit of weakness as a reason to kill him. A complete John Doe, walking about in public, surrendering to the state.... He shivers to think about the implications. It wasn’t long before they reach the very end of the hall, and right away Adam knew that was the door John Doe was holed up in. It had three large bars, all in a row, in latches, slid over top the door, with a massive padlock locked between the door’s handle and the wall. There was no slit to be seen, no way to peek in. Just a thick, solid slab of steel and metal. The guard takes a moment to step in front of Adam at that, taking a particularly large key from a ring of keys around his belt, and unlocking the padlock. Slowly, he slides the bars of metal out from their respective latches, before glancing back toward him, silently asking a question.

“Oh, yes, um.” He pulls his notepad out, and then rips off the pages he had been writing on for the day, holding them out to the guard. “These are my personal notes. In case something happens.”

The guard takes them, taking a moment to tuck them into his back pocket, before slowly pulling the door open. The light is dim, horrendously so, but what little it’s able to shed is enough to have the hairs on the back of Adam’s neck stand on end. The demon, John Doe, was chained to the wall across from him. 

He was certainly different from the picture he had seen on the clipboard; he no longer wore his spiffy coat, for it was now covered up within the thick padded fabric of a strait jacket, his arms tucked tightly against his sides in an almost painful looking criss-crossed pose, and his neck displayed a massive silver collar, a chain linked to the back of it, keeping him securely tethered. He wore no shoes, and instead of regular feet, there were two black hooves, resembling that of a goat, chain cuffs also looped quite tightly around his ankles, and the sight of his grin was now covered up by a thick leather muzzle, completely covering up his mouth, allowing only his eyes to be visible, which were a pale, almost sickly yellow sheen, with crocodile pupils. The only semblance of normalcy about him was the top hat he wore, a bright, pristine white with a pink line, and even then, there was something eerie about it; coiled around the brim of the hat was in fact a purple-scaled snake, seeming to be immobile, unmoving, and right next to the snake’s head was a bright, shiny red apple, so shiny that Adam almost considered it to be fake. From beneath the hat, faintly, was hair. Strawberry blonde in hue.

John Doe met his eyes, and just from the way they crinkled, Adam could tell that he was smiling.

Adam does his best to smile back, hoping it didn’t look too forced, and steps into the room with long strides, as if he weren’t just talking about his will a few moments earlier. The floor gives slightly under his weight, some kind of padded material and the only sense of softness to the room. The door creaks closed behind him, shutting tightly, and the sound of the locks clicking into place keeps him from saying anything for another few moments. The smile on the demon’s face never once leaves.

“I’ll admit I didn’t expect to see you in... such a state.” He chuckles lightly, hoping it wasn’t particularly offensive. “Sorry, I, ah, have a bit of a nervous tick, if you will. My name is Adam, Adam Walker. Until further notice, I will be the only person you will talk to at this facility.”

John Doe doesn’t speak for a moment, merely silent, and the light around them is so dark, that the only illumination Adam can detect is the glow of the demon’s eyes, golden, and so very eerie. He doesn’t move either, those eyes merely glancing him over, up and down, before a voice speaks, slightly muffled past the leather wrapped over his mouth. “Ah, so they finally grace my presence with some company. Good, good. It’s been getting a bit too quiet down here. I almost thought I’d be left alone down here with my own thoughts.”

“If that’s what you want, I can certainly arrange to meet with you at another time. I’ve been told you were given several prescriptions. If you’re tired at all, I could come back later in the day.” He steps forward. “Though it does sound like you want to talk in some capacity.”

“No, no. I’m fine with talking right now, if you are. It’s not like anyone else in this hall has been much company. Dare I say that they’re too scared to speak to me.” His head tilts ever so slightly and yet that hat doesn’t so much as wobble. “..Though that does beg the question of _why_ you’re talking to me.”

"Merely to answer questions, such as who you are and what you want." He pulls his notepad in front of him and takes out a pen. "Is it alright if I take notes? It helps me organize my thoughts."

“Mm. Can’t exactly stop you, can I?” He lifts a foot to give one of the chains a rattle. “I can’t guarantee that all my questions will be honest though. I like my privacy, and I’m afraid this treatment hasn’t exactly been the most _respectful_ of said privacy.”

"I'm sorry to hear that. I've honestly only worked with demons who had been settled here for quite some time. But if you would rather I set my pen and paper down, I'd be more than willing to do so." He lowers the notepad and looks him in the eyes. "I'm sure you've met some of the more ruthless individuals who work here, and I promise you I'm not like them. I try to accommodate my clients as best as I can, and that includes finding better accommodations for your living arrangement." He can't help but glance at the chains, considering how uncomfortable they may be. He snaps his eyes back to the demon's face.

John Doe is silent for a moment, glancing down toward the pen and paper, and after a moment, he merely shakes his head, causing the chain on his neck to rattle. “Take the notes if you wish. That doesn’t bother me. Though..” He tilts his chin upwards slightly. “If you could remove the mask around my face, please? I can’t exactly speak clearly in this thing and it’s getting a bit stuffy. I don’t exactly have a nose.”

"Regulation states I'm not to come within ten feet of my clients." He can't help his lips from twitching up at the easy attempt to goad him into walking into his jaws. "As much as I wish to help, I can't. Or won't, depending on how you look at it. Upper management can be rather strict at times. I hope you understand."

“Mm.” If it weren’t for the mask blocking his view, Adam would almost say that the demon was _pouting_. “What a shame. And here I thought you’d be the only one willing to touch me.” He chuckles at that, softly, eyes crinkling again, and he adjusts his footing, leaning back against the wall. “Go on, then, darling. Let’s hear what kind of questions your bosses want to hear.”

Adam chuckles lightly at that. What questions his bosses wanted him to ask were rather different from what he actually says out loud. "Are you a morning person or a night person?"

For a moment, the demon says nothing, and a brow visibly raises, before his eyes crinkle again, no doubt smirking beneath the mask. “..Morning, I’ll have to say.”

"Early morning or late morning?" He jots that down. "I tend to be up and about by five in the morning, in all honesty."

“Mm...” A hoof idly taps against the floor, as if thinking. “...I’d say halfway, somewhere in the middle. 8 to 9.”

"Always a good time to get things done." He grins at him, writing down the hours. "And what about food? Any preferences? I hear they found you at a candy store."

“Mm. Indeed, they did.” He nods softly at that, though he rolls his eyes. “The drugging and _manhandling_ was a bit on the unnecessary side though. All I wanted was a pound of fudge. Or five. Is that really so hard to ask?”

He chuckles, watching him. "So I take it you have quite the sweet tooth? I can see about your meals getting a few snacks added onto it. _Maybe_ a daily dessert if I try hard enough."

“Oh really?” That gets his head to tilt again, and he seems to smirk. “And what do I have to do to repay you for such a _tempting_ offer, hm?”

"Technically nothing, but if you tell me a little bit about yourself, I'd have more to leverage against my bosses." He grins at him, hoping the explanation is enough.

“Mm. Cute.” He seems to adjust himself, his arms seeming to wiggle within their bindings. “I’m assuming they want to know who I am? Where I came from? All fine questions, but not ones I’m keen on answering yet. I’m more curious about _you_ , my good man.” He leans forward a touch, slowly taking a single step forward, then another, then another, the chains ominously rattling like the bones of the dead. “...Something tells me what your bosses want to know isn’t what _you_ want to know.”

Adam swallows, but doesn't move as John Doe walks toward him. "My bosses and I may have a disagreement on what information is needed to determine answers to certain questions, but I assure you our goals are, generally, the same."

“Mm...But is that _really_ true?” Those glowing eyes almost seem to leer at him as they get closer and closer, and it wasn’t until the chains visibly grow taut that Adam realizes that John Doe is no less than a foot away, those eyes still staring, still leering, crinkled as if he still wore a grin beneath that mask. “We both know what your bosses want. And I think you can tell that I’m not so willing to give them that. Not yet.”

He can't help but shift under his gaze, the intensity enough to make him forget he was easily more than half a foot taller than him. He couldn't tell if the look he was receiving was one of murderous, cat and mouse intent or simply amusement at being able to toy with someone. He looks him in the eyes and continues smiling. "Yet implies some day. I'm not expecting answers on the same day I meet you."

Those eyes seem to stare at him for a moment, wandering over him, as if taking him in, still standing there, so very close to him and yet so far at the same time. “..Good.” The chains slacken a touch. “To answer _your_ question, yes, you could say I have a bit of a weakness for sweets. Mostly chocolate, although fruity sweets also is one of my favorites as well.”

"I'll... make a note of that." He scribbles on his pad, trying not to let his relief show but knowing he's doing a poor job of it. "Are there any foods you don't like?"

“Mm..” He squints, as if trying to determine a proper answer. “I don’t believe I ever had to answer a question like that before.” After a moment, he shrugs. “I’ll eat anything that isn’t rotten, if that helps. I usually prefer my meals to be cooked, meat and vegetables especially.”

Adam blinks once, then writes that down, alongside a note reading, _Unused to simple questions_. He looks back at him, noticing the lack of distance, and shifts back a step for comfort. "If we were to get amenities in your room, what would you want first? What would you prioritize?"

“Mm. Amenities, you say?” He takes a moment to glance around the room, before shifting in his chains. “Well, firstly, I’d like to get all of _these_ off of me. Trust me, darling, while I appreciate all the cute little precautions in how you try and make yourselves feel safe, they certainly aren’t the most _comfortable_.” His arms seem to flex a touch within the jacket, and one eye crinkles into that of a wince.

"I'll definitely be speaking with someone about the jacket. From what I know, you haven't tried _physically_ attacking anyone. Even if I wanted to undo the restraints, though, I'm not entirely sure how, and I'd hate to make things more painful." He jots down _Says I 'feel' safe_ and a note about the straight jacket, then tucks his notepad under his arm and carefully raises a hand to his face. "The, er, muzzle, on the other hand...."

John Doe seems to freeze a touch at that, before his eyes crinkle in a smile once more, and he leans forward as much as he can before the chain grows tight again. “Go ahead, darling. I won’t bite. Promise.”

He leans back slightly, not quite realizing he's doing so, and carefully takes his jaw in his hand and starts working on the straps. "I'm not entirely sure of that one, but, hey! What's life for if not to take chances?" He offers a wider smile.

The demon lets out a soft chuckle, those eyes seeming to glow with mirth. From what Adam can feel of John Doe’s skin, it’s certainly a lot more warm then he first expected, not at all cold like he would expect from the undead, a lot more soft too. Strangely, he didn’t feel any hair lining the man’s jaw either, just completely smooth skin. He can feel the man’s jaw stretch slightly as he mumbles beneath the mask. “That’s certainly something I can live by, my good man.”

"Is that why you're here? To take chances?" Adam doesn't look him in the eye, managing to undo a buckle and pull it free, starting on another. "You seem like the type to do that."

“Do I? Picking me apart psychologically already?” Another soft chuckle, and his voice becomes a touch clearer. “I suppose you could call it that, yes. I consider it more...exploring a choice.”

"I was merely wondering about you surrendering yourself. Most demons would fight before giving in." He slips the other buckle undone and pulls the muzzle away from his face and under his chin. "There we go. Better?"

It was there, via the light of John Doe’s own eyes, that Adam caught a glimpse of that mouth, those teeth, long and jagged and absolutely sharp to the touch, glinting in the light as those lips stretch into a massive grin. His jaw momentarily opens, working up and down as if he was testing to see if it still worked, before pulling his head back a touch, chuckling. “Much better, my good man, much better. Adam, was it?”

"Yes, sir. Adam Walker." He pulls his hands back and takes a step away from him, pulling his notepad back out. He writes _Exploring a choice_ and adds several question marks next to it.

“ _Sir_ ?” That gets the demon to chuckle, and this time his voice rings out as crystal clear as a bell. “No need to be so _formal_ , darling. That simple “John Doe” name that your superiors keep using is just fine for now.”

He grins unevenly, unsure whether to take the laugh as a threat or just a laugh. "Of course. Apologies. Old habits die hard and all."

“Oh?” That gets him to tilt his head, and his eyes narrow as that grin widens, those teeth almost seeming to _stretch_ to fill it. “Habits, you say?” He looks him up and down, glances him over. “You’re a grunt in the American military, aren’t you? Former, I’m guessing, due to the lack of uniform, and no gun, not to mention how rigid you’re standing and how your shoes are firmly pointed forward. Your accent _clearly_ isn’t British, which means you aren’t _local_ to Europe, which means you must have transferred here to aid in the time of the War. Yet you claim you work in this facility and answer _directly_ to the main operators of the prison, so much so that you can twist the rules and provide me privileges that normally no _regular_ prison would even come _close_ to allowing...” He trails off, and he narrows his eyes even more. “...How _did_ you end up in a place like _this_ , Adam?” Somehow his name falling from John’s lips sounds like it’s both dripping with honey and a scathing growl.

"Ah-" He shifts, feeling a tiny bead of sweat trace down the back of his neck. Usually he was the one saying things like that, typically when he was at his wit's end with Sir Pentious and his dramatic pouting fits, but the way the words hit him seem less like a "here's what I already know" and more like a "you messed up and gave me a piece of the puzzle, thank you very much." Maybe it was a little bit of both. But either way it was meant to make him feel threatened. He takes a breath. "There are some things I'm not at privilege to say, but I can confirm that I was part of the American military. Since this is a British facility, the rules and regulations are a bit... different for me. I'm technically still part of the military, but certain protocol insists I not wear my uniform while on the premises."

“You’re certainly far from home, aren’t you?” John Doe seems to chuckle to himself, softly, and he adjusts his position so that the chains around him aren’t so taut. “Yet your demeanor when you walked in the door definitely makes it seem as if you’re _used_ to working with demons.” One of his brows raise, and yet he still grins. “My my, quite the dangerous occupation you have, Adam. How does it feel, to be in direct contact with the worst humanity has to offer? With humans so abysmally awful in heart and mind and soul, that their bodies rise from the grave as mutated monstrosities?”

"It's not quite as horrible as some make it out to be." He moves both his hands to his front, holding his notepad loosely. "Some days it's almost pleasant." He let's himself chuckle a little, his own grin fanning out. Maybe John Doe was looking for something interesting. Maybe that's why he let himself get captured.

“Heheh. Almost?” He seems to smirk at that, before moving to turn around, walking back towards the wall, and it’s there, back faced to Adam, that he’s able to see the almost obscene way his back _bulges_ , the fabric too dense and too compact to be able to make anything out accurately, but considering the almost _thin_ figure John seems to display, that amount of mass seems too uncanny to be just the weight of his shoulders or his spine. He only manages to catch a glimpse of it for a couple seconds before John turns back to face him, slowly moving to slide down the wall, to sit on the floor, his hooves folding in a criss-crossed position. “Tell me, what kind of wicked fiends are locked down here? I’m practically _dying_ to see them.”

Adam watches him for a moment, then sits down and crosses his legs just like John Doe has. "I'm not sure if I should tell you so much just yet, especially if we're going to be chatting for quite some time now."

“Mm..” This time Adam actually sees the pout, and it only lasts for a second before it fades into another smile, this one with his lips closed, covering up those teeth, and he shifts to the side in order to stretch out a leg, a bit of strain entering his voice as he does so. “Alright then, darling. Tell me about yourself, then, if we aim to get to know each other. We can make it a game. I share something about myself, you share something about you. 50/50. Seem fair?” A sliver of teeth enters his smile at that, and Adam somehow got the distinct impression that if that jacket wasn’t there, John Doe would be holding out a hand for him to shake.

He smiles pleasantly, considering the offer to be the best he's likely to get. "I suppose it's fair enough. And it goes unsaid that so long as we continue this, er, deal of sorts, I'll do my best to help with your accommodations."

“Darling, you get me out of all these chains, I’ll be happy to answer whatever questions _you_ have to give me.”

He can't help but laugh. "Are you trying to tell me you're easily pleased?"

“I’m trying to tell you that I want my arms to stop imitating a pretzel, dear.” He flashes a smaller grin at that. “And I’m trying to tell you that I only answer questions that _you_ want to give me. I won’t be answering anything from your superiors in any way. I don’t feel privy to talking to a man that’s only being used as a tool for transaction.”

"Of course." Adam looks down at the spongey floor for a moment, tapping his clipboard. "I have to admit that I'm curious about why you went to a candy store of all places. And in daylight hours." He presses his lips together. "We just met, of course, but it doesn't make much sense to me."

“They had a sale on fudge, and I heard from word in the grape vine that they had a special type of fudge that was all the rage.” He gives an idle shrug, grinning a bit more brightly now. “It was caramel fudge mixed with bits and pieces of toffee. All I wanted to do was try it, and if that fudge was as delicious as everyone claimed it was, I didn’t want to go and sully it’s reputation by breaking in and robbing the place of all it’s sweets!” He shakes his head at that. “No, no, I wanted to give that place the respect it deserves. So I figured, why not just be a customer and order the fudge in the proper way?” He rolls his eyes and lets out a bit of a huff. “Of course I wasn’t _expecting_ the building to be filled with 5 Hunters with _guns_ , but I wasn’t going to let them _shoot_ me! I was just there for fudge!”

"You didn't expect Hunters to come after you?" He tilts his head. "Most demons don't go out in public because it's rather well known that Hunters prowl the streets."

“I more meant I wasn’t expecting them to be _in_ the shop with me when I walked in. Sure, there were people outside who were running around and calling the police, but I wasn’t expecting to stay in the shop for long.” He lets out a sigh. “That poor cashier certainly got a few mental scars, though. By the time I got to the front of the line, I was practically _soaked_ in blood, and I don’t think my smile was enough to soothe her worries.” He flashes his teeth as if in example, his head lolling back with a sigh. “Anyways, I got my five pound bag of fudge, gave the cashier a 50 dollar tip in euros, and walked out to find the building surrounded.” He shrugs softly. “I figured surrendering would be the best option.”

"And you only killed people who had threatened your life? The Hunters?" He starts writing on his notepad again.

“Mhm.” He nods softly. “All I wanted was the fudge. Why bloody my suit when I don’t have a proper reason to? I’m a demon, not a maniac.”

"Of course." He underlines a word in his notes. "I think plenty of people would argue that wanting fudge is not much of a reason to kill people, but I doubt there's reason to argue about it."

“No, no, no.” His arms shift as if he desperately wanted to extend a finger in protest. “I only killed those Hunters because they would’ve shot me if I didn’t. I think we can both agree that no one wants to be _shot_ , right?”

"I think we could also agree that no one wants their heads exploded, but seeing as they were the antagonists... I'd say you win that argument, yes." He grins pleasantly, again. He hopes he isn't overstepping boundaries.

“Oh please, I didn’t “explode their heads.” He rolls his eyes a touch at that. “I made their organs erupt. Simplest trick in the book.”

"I've never heard of a demon doing something like that before." He narrows his eyes on him. "Then again, I'm not _quite_ the specialist."

“Then you haven’t been paying as much attention as you think, my friend.” He smirks a touch at that, a soft one. “Those magic suppressors are fine pieces of work, truly. But rest assured, those are the only things keeping any demon trapped within these walls. You wouldn’t have lasted a day had they not been in place, and neither would anyone else, for that matter.”

“I think they could have killed me quite easily if they wanted. You don’t need magic to murder, John Doe.” Adam raises a brow at him. “Not everyone else is confined like you are. Most of the demons I deal with don’t even wear straight jackets.”

“...Oh?” That gets him to tilt his head, and his grin disappears at that. “Forgive me if I was under the impression that this was how the military treats that of demonic kind. After all, I’ve only been here for a day and they’ve strung me up like a pig about to have his throat slit on a hook.”

“In all honesty, I was under the impression that most demons are given better care in their first days, but clearly I was wrong.” He lets his smile thin out, enough to make it clear he’s not bouncing off the walls _happy_. “Which is why I’m rather eager to get better accommodations for you. The chains and straight jacket first, and then proper furnishing. Unless you’d want a bed earlier rather than later.”

“Hmm..” He frowns a touch at that, his jacket squirming, as if he was trying to shift his arms. “Jacket and chains first. Haven’t felt this tied up since my honeymoon, and this time, it’s not in a good way.”

“Oh, um...” He tries to bat away the feeling of heat rising in his face, quickly trying to pivot the conversation. “Honeymoon, you say? Does that mean you’re married?”

“Quite happily, yes.” A grin forms on his face at that, and it’s a proud one. “Been married for a long time. I’ve practically lost count how long we've known each other.”

“That sounds rather nice. Do you have any children?” He pointedly doesn’t write the information down.

“Ah, Ah.” He tilts his head, a sharper grin forming on his face. “Remember the deal, my friend. You have to tell me something about _you_ now.” He leans forward a touch. “I’ll start with something simple. Where do you live?”

“Ah.” He can feel himself getting defensive already. “Technically I live here in Beeston.”

“Oh, come now. We both know that isn’t the truth.” He smirks a bit more at that. “We aren’t _really_ going to dance around the bush with technicalities, are we?”

He takes a breath, weighing the odds, and taps his thumbs against his knees. “I... no, I don’t believe that’s a particularly good idea. I merely worry about my family overseas.”

“Ah, I see.” He hums a touch at that, tilting his head. “Worry for them how?”

“If someone _were_ to escape from this facility,” he starts, “and they were to know my family’s whereabouts....” Something in him shudders just to consider it. “Well, I’d rather avoid any kind of unwanted outcome.”

“Mm..” He reclines against the wall at that, sighing. “I can understand that. Very well, a new question then.” He squints a touch, as if trying to think. “Hmm...How about this? Why did you get involved in the war? I understand that not everyone has a choice in the matter, but even then...”

“I was conscripted. I had hunting expertise, so handling a gun wasn’t particularly new to me.” He shrugs. “Once you’re in the military, you can’t easily leave it.”

“Ah, I see.” He nods softly. “Back to my question then. Yes, I do indeed have a child. Wonderful daughter. I love her more than life itself.” He chuckles a touch at the thought, his grin turning more soft.

“A daughter. That’s nice.” He nods, grinning himself, though he could feel some confusion brewing. None of the others had ever mentioned children before, much less spouses. He hadn’t gone about asking them, though. Maybe he should change that.

“Oh, it’s both the most amazing thing ever and also the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever undergone.” He chuckles at that, but seems to pause, as if he realized a hidden connotation, then shakes his head. “Oh, not due to any fault of her own, oh no. I could never blame _her_ for any of my screwups. Especially since I was the one who decided to make her. I’m just an idiot who doesn’t have any idea how to raise a kid.” He chuckles again.

Adam blinks at the wording and how quick the man was to take the blame for himself. He makes a mental note that John Doe is quite the family man. “I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult parenting is. I know _I_ was always a trouble child.”

“Well, all I can say is, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.” He smiles softly, seeming to almost get lost in thought.

Adam lets him drift for a moment, taking the small silence to write _Sentimental_ on his paper. “I suppose that means it’s my turn to answer a question?”

“Hm?” He blinks, then nods quietly. “Oh, yes, please, by all means.”

“Hmm...” He taps his pen against his knuckles. “Do you want to know more about my family, or something different?” 

“I suppose if you’re willing to share more about your family, I’m willing to hear. Are you willing?” He raises a brow, softly.

“I... suppose it’s only fair, since you told me about your own family.” He grins softly. “I’m an only child, which means I was spoiled from a very young age. And I don’t want kids, ever. I’m admittedly not very good with children, among other things.”

“Ah, I see.” He chuckles a touch. “No worries, I know it’s not for everyone. I’ll try to keep that in mind for our chit-chats later down the line.”

He isn’t all too certain what that’s supposed to mean, but he laughs anyway, brows furrowed. “I’m glad to hear you’ve decided we’ll be having more conversations.”

“Of course. If you’re going to be my only company in this miserable place, might as well make sure I stick to topics that you aren’t made uncomfortable by.” He moves to recline a bit more, casually propping up a knee while slinging his other leg across it.

“I suppose that makes enough sense.” He can just barely make out the man’s eyes over his legs, and he takes a moment to marvel at the hat, still crisp and pristine on his head. “Can I ask why you have a snake and apple on your hat? I’ve never quite seen anything like it.”

“Hmm.” By the sound of his voice, he seems to find that question amusing. “Decoration.”

“Just decoration?” He raises a brow. “No other meaning to it?”

“I suppose you could say it has another meaning, yes. More of an inside joke than anything.”

“A play off of the apple of knowledge and the snake who led humanity to it?”

His fangs curl with his smile. “Ah, I see you’re a man who knows his Christian mythology.” He lets his head tilt, showing off that the apple nor the snake seems to move (though neither does the hat). “I suppose you could say that I’m taking a jab at the pastors and priests of old and new. They claim demons are made by the Devil? Might as well act out the part.”

“I see. Does that mean you’re acting the part of the Devil, since you’re wearing his symbology?” He leans forward, curious.

“In a sense. I’d prefer to say I’m acting out the part of the spectator. After all, isn’t that what they always say about beings like them? God, the Devil, always standing on the sidelines, never stepping in, yet always ensnaring their claws in absolutely _everything_ they can see.” He smirks a touch. “They say life is an ornate game of chess. I decided I didn’t want to be the pawn anymore.”

Adam’s brows raise as he listens, nodding gently to his words. “No one likes being a pawn, definitely. But, spectator? You enjoy watching what others do? How come?”

“I like to see how others operate when they believe they are all on their own. That it’s their game to play, that it’s their goal to win. They all say we are the most ourselves when there is no one left to watch us.” He smirks at that, his teeth glimmering in the glow of his eyes. “Consider me curious. Curious of how far some people are willing to go, to win the game.”

“And how do people win this game?” He feels like he’s talking philosophy with a serial killer. Probably because he is. And just like all the others, it’s strangely satisfying to hear the answers.

He pauses for a moment, as if contemplating, before he lets out a soft chuckle. “..Well..Wouldn’t you say that coming back from the dead to be a satisfactory reward?”

Adam tilts his head at that, blinking but only half in surprise. “Some people are terrified of becoming undead. They see it as a curse more than a blessing. Shunned by almost all of humanity for as long as your immortal life lasts, likely only until the upcoming New Year. Not a very long lasting reward, now is it?”

“Perhaps. But if you manage to beat the system, if you manage to cheat death, what does that leave you? An immortal body, the strength of magic, and so, _so_ much more.” He chuckles softly, moving to sit up at that, looking Adam dead in the eye. “I assure you, playing the game has it’s rewards. That’s why they want to keep you as a pawn.”

He doesn’t like the way he says _you_. He exhales. “Perhaps some people don’t mind being pawns.”

His lips close over his teeth at that. “..Oh?”

“Normalcy and a quiet life are enough for quite a few people. Most people I know don’t ask for anything more.” He shrugs simply.

“Mm. Perhaps. But the ones I’m keen on watching are usually the ones who always ask for _more_ . Though I am curious..How much do _you_ ask for?”

“Me? I...” He shrugs again, feeling those eyes burn into him. “I don’t.”

“You don’t ask?” He tilts his head, softly. “You don’t ask for anything at all?”

“Perhaps a few things here and there, but I find asking for things to be... overrated at times.” He laughs shortly. “I’m fairly certain the Brits are at their wits end with me. I’m too valuable for them to fire and too good at my job to die from blatant peril.”

“Is that so? Hm. Is that why they assigned you to me? Hoping I’d go and turn you into a wet stain on the wall?” He seems to express distaste at the thought, and his lips turn down in a frown.

“It’s why I’m assigned to almost every single demon in this facility.” He grins at him, almost a smirk. “When I said it’s difficult to leave the military, I meant it.” 

“I see.” He smirks a touch at that. “Well, rest assured, Adam, I have no intentions of getting your jugular stuck between my teeth. Not going to waste good company, especially one who’s never jabbed me in the neck with _needles_ .” His eyes flick to the door beyond and for a moment his eyes flash _crimson_.

The skin on his back crawls at the sight, the flash of his eyes embodying more anger and spite than he had expected to see. Not that he could blame him. Needles are notoriously not fun to deal with. “I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.”

After a moment, John Doe glances back toward him, and his eyes narrow. “Speaking of needles and _drugs_ and all that..This place wouldn’t happen to put chemicals into a demon’s food, would they?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” He raises a brow and blinks again. “I tend to have meals with some of my clients during the day. I’ve never noticed anything before. No mood changes in anyone either.”

“Mm...Not that I don’t trust your word, but I don’t exactly trust _them_ . After all, they did _this_ to me, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up drugging my food like I’m some rabid animal.” He again moves to glare toward the door.

Adam glances at the door, hoping that whoever it was that had stuck John Doe with a needle had fled the country already. He looks back to him. “If you want, I could have dinner with you tonight, in case anything happens. My schedule can be rather flexible, and I have a few more things to cross off my list for the day.”

He moves to glance back toward him, raising a brow. “..Are you sure? What if the food ends up being drugged?”

“Then I’ll be having a conversation with management.” He stands, straightening his clothes. “None of my clients are lab rats or guinea pigs, and I make sure of that.”

“Hmm..” He can’t help but smirk ever so slightly. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but..” He gives his arms a wiggle from within the jacket.

He chuckles. “The sentiment still stands, and it is appreciated.” He walks toward him, moving to the center of the room and no further. “If it’s alright with you, I wouldn’t mind calling the meeting for the day. I’ll come back for dinner and if there’s anything else you’d like to talk about, we can discuss it then. How does that sound?”

“Mm. Sounds marvelous already, Adam. I look forward to it.” He smirks softly, teeth hidden behind his lips.

“Me as well!” He turns walking toward the door. “And try and not hound the guards too much. They get testy when things get too loud.”

“They won’t even hear a peep out of me.” He chuckles softly, already settling back into his place against the wall.

“Dinner should be in just a few hours. I’ll try and make it on time, but...” He puts a hand on the door. “The man you stole my attention from _really_ enjoys having all the attention he can get.”

“Ohohoh, does he now?” That gets his teeth exposed again. “Well, I suppose we’ll need to learn to share, then.”

“Let’s just hope neither of you get too jealous with my ever increasing _shhhedule_.” He spits out the last word in the worst British accent he can manage and then knocks on the door. “I’m not dead yet. Can I come out?”

After a moment of silence, the sounds of the locks and latches being undone rings through the air, and the glow of John Doe’s eyes is finally drowned out by the light of the hallway.

•••

“I am _so sorry_ I’m late, my dear. I should have had someone send you a note or something.” Adam strides into the room as the door locks behind him, seeing Sir Pentious standing with his arms crossed with the most annoyed expression on his face. “The new transfer wasn’t scheduled for at least another day or two, but apparently it was urgent enough to bring him in _today_ instead.”

“Hmph. Urgent or not, you should have kept an eye on your watch.” His tail flicks in distaste as he turns to slither towards the round table that sat in the middle of his main cell, where not only a kettle of tea sat, along with two cups, but also a thermos of what Adam knew to be coffee as well as an tray of what appeared to be a well cooked steak. “Its not like you won’t have more time to sssspend with this...This...blithering nobody, whoever he is.”

“He’s quite literally a nobody.” He follows him to the table, setting his notepad on the ground next to his chair and sitting. “No one knows anything about him except for the fact that he killed five Hunters in a candy shop without batting an eye. He doesn’t seem like the average demon, if the way he talks is anything to go by.”

Pentious seems to pause at that, ever so slightly, before he huffs and begins to curl his coils around the table. “ _All_ demons like to boast and claim that they’re myssssterious or different or somehow bereft of everything else. It’s nothing but hot air. Pure bubbling around fro the ssssake of it. Don’t listen to anything this new demon tries to spout at you, it’s probably all nonssssense.” He taps the table with a claw. “Now sit. Your coffee is getting cold.”

He takes his seat, sighing lightly, and grabs the canister of coffee. “I’ve had plenty of people lie to me here, but he... didn’t seem like it. Hmm.” He leans his cheek in his hand, pursing his lips. “You could be right, though. Good liars are hard to pick out.”

“Of course they are. That’s what makesss them good at lying in the first place. You don’t know they were lying otherwise.” His tail flickers, and he moves to pour some tea into his cup. “You have to remind yoursssself that we, as _demons_ , are the literal worsssst of humanity. _I_ may not fancy myself with constant fabrications, but that doesn’t apply with every undead beast that comes popping out of the grave.”

“If I’m honest, I consider the possibility of you lying every time you tell me anything.” Adam sighs, unscrewing the lid of the thermos and pouring himself coffee. “I do with everyone, just in case. But...” He brings the cup to his lips, then shakes his head and sets it on the table. “Why would a demon lie about having a family? It doesn’t make sense.”

“A family?” That gets Pentious’s brow to raise, and his tongue flickers out between his teeth. “What exactly did this man tell you?”

“He said he has a wife and a daughter - which I shouldn’t be telling you at all. I definitely need more coffee.” He brings the cup back to his lips, taking a large gulp.

“Hmmm.” He moves to sip at his own cup of tea before bringing a piece of steak to his lips, taking a bite and starting to chew. “Where exactly _is_ this man? You said he was moved here today, yes? Where did they place him?”

“Another question I shouldn’t answer.” He lowers his cup long enough to give him a look, then continues sipping. “Did you notice him when he came in? I was with Rosie, and she got all... tense and glowy.”

Pentious pauses at that as he brings up his tea cup to his lips, and for a moment, he doesn’t answer, merely moving to sip at his tea anyway. After a few seconds of silence, he places his cup back down, huffing a touch. “No. I didn’t even know a new demon was being sent here, not until you told me. Rosie’s a paranoid church bell who always raises her hackles the moment anyone new marches through the doors. We both know that.”

Adam raises his brows. "Rosie may be careful about a few things, but she doesn't go completely stiff and start summoning magic at the tip of a hat." He takes another sip from his cup. "Are you _sure_ you didn't feel anything at all? Not even a smidge? The other levels were apparently going into panic mode."

“No, I didn’t feel anything.” His tongue slides through his fangs to flicker almost scornfully, and his hood visibly rattles, though it doesn’t spread open, eyes narrowing in distaste. “And frankly, I don’t care. All this panic over _one_ new demon showing up is just nothing more than pathetic idiocy and I’d gladly not take part in such.” He takes another bite of his steak, glancing at him, then away. “Let me guesssss, did this demon threaten to kill you as well? Is that why everyone is sssso high-strung?”

"No, actually. He was surprisingly cordial. Smiling a lot too." He huffs slightly, finishing his coffee and pouring another cup. "If I had to guess, he _let_ himself get captured. And management has him down in floor ten, which is reserved for high propensity magic users. Which coincides with him apparently being able to turn someone inside out without even looking at them." He gulps more coffee down, barely even looking at Pentious as he talks. "He doesn't _need_ to threaten anyone with what little history we have on him."

Pentious rolls his eyes at that, tongue flickering again. “Oh, is that so? Feh. It’s always the same. “I can turn someone inside out”, “I can set someone on fire,” “I can telekinetically force someone to choke themselves to death,” it’s always the same absolute rubbish to try and make the guardssss scared.” He drains the last of his tea and moves to refill it. “As long as he doesn’t actually make an attempt to kill you, you’ll be fine. Sssstop fussing so much.”

"I'm not fussing when he's _done it._ It's in his files, it's how he got caught. But he never once threatened me with it." He puts his cup down, rubbing over his face, and then exhales again at the look he receives. "Sorry, sorry. I'll stop. I shouldn't be talking about other demons when this is your time. Rambling too much today...." He shifts the handle of his coffee cup, then fills it back to the top.

Pentious stares at him for a moment before simply huffing a touch, lifting his tea to his lips to take another sip. “You’re forgiven for now.“

Adam blinks, then laughs a little, some of the tension in his shoulders and face leaving him. "Thank you, Sir Pentious." He's quiet for another moment, then says, “So how have your projects been treating you? Anything you need? Tools that aren’t reliable?”

“Oh, they’re going about as well as you’d expect.” He lets out another sigh, momentarily lifting his hat to card a hand through his hair. “Just shipped out another blueprint, managed to repair my pocket watch after it stopped working two days ago, and I hear that some idiot over in Canada is deciding to write a book about me and my history. Can’t wait to read it when it gets published.”

“Maybe they’ll actually do some research this time instead of listening to folk tales.” He sips at his coffee. “Good to hear your watch is up and running again. I actually rather like it. Very stylish.”

“Mm. I _could_ make you your own pocket watch, if that one ever ssstops working.” He points a claw toward Adam’s wristwatch. “In exchange for ssssomething else, of course. Maybe ssssome more wine. I seem to be going through it a bit more than I usually do.”

"Oh, really? Any particular reason, or just bored?" He sets his head in his palm, watching him. Pentious wasn't the type to get bored very easily. Too much jumping around in that brain of his.

Pentious glances at him a touch, then away, his tongue flickering out in distaste, hood starting to rattle yet again. “Guessssss who apparently was finally released from housssssse arresssst today? Pardoned by the _damn_ Prime Minissster himself, apparently?”

Adam stares blankly for a moment, then feels his expression tighten at the dawning realization. "February Fourteenth. Aaron was set to be.... Guh." And he had been hours late to talk with Pentious. How long had he been stewing about this? "You must be furious."

“Quite so.” He downs his cup of tea at that, swallowing it in a few steady gulps, again, moving to refill it, his hood visibly rattling with perfectly confined rage. “Were it not for the fact that all of this stuff was mine and highly valuable in my current ssstate, I would have smashed it all to pieces hours ago. That and the wine.” One of his eyes twitch. “I long for the day I get to kill that man, Adam. I yearn for it.”

"Him being the man who ended your living reign over the world... I can only imagine." He rolls his cup between his hands. "I can try and fit some extra recreation time into your schedule if you want. Maybe find something less valuable for you to destroy."

“Hmmm..” His tongue flickers out at that, tail slowly flicking back and forth, and just from the snarling expression on his hat, Adam can tell just how furious the man actually is, even though his own face is eerily composed. “..That sssounds like it’s the bessst thing I’m going to get down here.”

“And I'll see about getting the wine you like so much. How many bottles would you like?" He grins softly.

“Hmm..” That gets him to glance at him. “Can you do 4? Or 6? Or 10?”

Adam smirks, chuckling lightly. "I'll see how many I can carry and cross it with how much the stores will let me take at a time. If I can manage it, maybe I'll hit two stores."

“Mm..” That gets his tail to flick, and he lets out a loud sigh, his hat slowly seeming to lose it’s vengeful snarl. “Thank you.” He lets a hand come up to rub over his face. “...Can’t even get the energy to stay mad anymore.”

"Maybe that's a good thing." It's a reach, knowing who he's talking to, but he likes his odds. "If you stop fretting over the past, maybe you can put more effort into the future, and the present."

That earns him a withering glare. “...Are you trying to give me a talk about turning over a new leaf?”

"No, but perhaps putting less energy into rivalries and grudges, even those which are well earned, may free up some energy you could put elsewhere." He curses himself and takes another gulp of coffee.

“He _killed_ me, Adam.”

"True. Right. Um." He looks aside, shifting in his seat. "Sorry. I shouldn't be telling you what to do anyways." He clears his throat, searching for another topic to discuss to fill time.

After a pause, there was another sigh, and Pentious’s hood seems to flatten from it’s rattled pose. “...I heard word of a few new music recordsssss being released..”

"Oh, yes!" He straightens, smile instantly blooming across his face and mind racing too fast to remember the awkwardness of the previous moment. "I've been trying to get more in tune with British music, but it's so much more different than back home. It's not particularly _bad_ , though. I'll see about bringing a record or two by the place. But!" His hands fling up, excitement brewing in him. "Even better than that." He slowly leans across the table. " _The Original Dixieland Jazz Band is coming to England!"_

That gets Pentious to stare at him with an expression not unlike he suddenly spawned a second head, and after a moment, his tongue flicks out as he frowns, idly, in confusion. “Er...Who?”

Adam's eyes almost bug out of his skull. "Don't tell me you haven't heard of _the_ Original Dixieland Jazz Band." He looks him over, almost returning the look to him. " _The_ up and coming band for new and revolutionary music? Coming straight from New Orleans and touring through Chicago _and_ New York? Tony Spargo, Edwin Edwards, Nick LaRocca, Larry Shields, Henry Ragas?"

At that, Pentious gives him a bit of a flat look, his hat giving him a nonplussed glare. “..I don’t exactly have the opportunitiessss to see everything that goes on in the world, gigglemug.”

"But they've been on the radio, haven't they? And they have records out all the way from 1916. Though I suppose that _was_ in America. I've never thought to look for them here." He leans back and stretches for his notepad, straining for a moment before managing to snatch it. He pulls his pen out and clicks it. "I am going to make it my duty to fill these halls with _proper_ music. I wish my radio was up and running! Ah, I'd have music 24/7, every day of the week."

“Oh Lord..” Pentious sighs and takes another gulp of tea at that. “What kind of insssignificant wrath have I brought down on myssself this time?”

"Nothing but good rhythms, I swear. Piano, drums, trombones, clarinets, sometimes a bit of saxophone. Playful, sometimes a bit fast, sometimes slower. It's wonderful! Oh, I just want to dance thinking about it." He stops writing to prop his chin on his hand, humming.

“Something tells me we have very different tassstes when it comes to music, gigglemug.” He shakes his head at that, but also seems to smirk at that.

"Different tastes in music doesn't mean you won't like it." He holds up a hand, beaming at him. "At least try listening to it? Please? For me. When I bring it some day."

“If it means you’ll get me my wine, then sure.”

"Yes! Ha! Oh, you're a godsend." He picks up his coffee and sips at it, smile large enough to be seen around the edges of the cup.

That seems to get Pentious’s own grin to become a touch more devious, widening, his hood flaring up with a pleased rattle. “Many more would ssssay otherwise.”

"Hey, those same people would say God knows who's going where, so in quite a few ways, He _did_ send you here. If you believe all that." He chuckles lightly, leg bouncing under the table.

“Absolutely not. Do _you_?” Pentious raises a brow, still smirking.

"I believe He could definitely be enough of a jerk to act like that. But I don't think anyone knows anything about Him for sure, so it's useless to argue about it." He smirks right back at him.

“Hmph. I ssssuppose.” He chuckles a touch. “Musssst be one sadistic God if he decided to make _me_.”

Adam chuckles. "I wouldn't deny that at all."

There’s a knock on the door across the room and the slit opens, two eyes peering inside. “Mr. Walker? John Doe is requesting dinner right now.”

Adam turns around in his seat, raising a brow at the door. “Right now?”

“And he’s refusing to eat without your presence. Said you promised him a date.” The guard raises a brow back at him.

“I didn’t...” He narrows his eyes, then tilts his head back and exhales. “Guh. Fine. I’ll be out in a moment.”

Pentious’s eyes flick back and forth between him and the door as the slit slides shut, and he slowly raises a brow. “..A _date_?”

“ _Not_ my wording and _not_ a date.” He huffs, downing his cup of coffee. “He’s worried about being poisoned or drugged, so I told him I’d be there during his first meal. I don’t understand why demons word things like that so often...”

Pentious himself can’t help but narrow his eyes ever so slightly, but after a moment, he turns his head aside, huffing softly. “If this ‘John Doe’ _coward_ really thinkssss he needs your asssistance when it comes to _eating,_ then go ahead and go. He’s a _fool_ if he thinks you being in the room will sssstop them from doing anything.”

“Hopefully it will, especially if I’m eating his food right alongside him.” Adam stands, straightening his clothes. “We’ll have to reschedule the rest of this conversation, if you’re fine with that. There are a few, er, personal matters I’m hoping to address tonight and I’ve been procrastinating enough as is.”

“Mm..” He hums after a moment, but then his tail flicks dismissively, still looking away. “Whenever you’re able to.”

“How about early afternoon tomorrow?” He moves around to one of the many side tables and picks up his notepad.

“How early are we talking?” He glances back toward him at that, raising a brow. “Wouldn’t want to get Rossssie annoyed with me now.”

“Maybe, er, one o’clock?” If he arrives even earlier than usual, he may be able to get his conversation with John Doe done by noon, and then stop by Rosie’s room for an hour to explain some of the changes. And his pressing need to make amends with Pentious. “I can go longer with her or schedule more time during the week. And she mentioned something about liquor, so maybe I can pull on that string and see where it gets me.”

“Hmm..” He narrows his eyes a touch, but after a moment, he simply nods and moves to take a sip of his tea. “Very well then. If you believe that’s the best choice to take.”

“I’ll make sure a note gets sent around about schedule changes. But until then, have a good evening and a good night, Sir Pentious.” He nods at him, walking toward the exit.

“Good night to you as well, my good man. And give my most hateful regardssss to your newessst patient.” Pentious’s hood rattles a touch at that, and his eyes narrow toward the door.

“As you wish.” He grins wider at him, and then knocks on the door, slipping outside into the hall again. He watches the guard shut the door, and then narrows his eyes on him when he turns. “What in Hell’s name is this about a _date?”_

The guard himself seems to give him a bit of a glance before starting to walk down the hall yet again. “Hell if I know. He was brought his food, and he wouldn’t stop asking for you. When staff tried telling him that you were with another prisoner, he kept assuring staff that “he had a date with his interviewer.”

Adam fumes for a moment, running a hand over his forehead and through his hair (maybe he should get a haircut sooner, it’s growing out much quicker than he had anticipated) before following him. “I don’t.... get demons sometimes. Right when I feel like I understand what’s going through their minds, it’s all.... upside-down and weird. But still makes sense.” He narrows his eyes and looks at the guard. “Does that make sense at all? No? Okay.”

“I’m certain he was more trying to tease you than anything. Or he’s just a creep.” The guard’s nose wrinkles slightly in disgust. “He definitely _looks_ creepy in my book.”

“He’s certainly more humanoid than some others I’ve seen. Apparently the human psyche doesn’t like _close but very different.”_ He smirks at him and considers the idea of John Doe teasing him. Other demons had flirted with him once or twice on occasion, even Rosie had mentioned a few things about his looks here and there, and it wouldn’t surprise him if the seemingly most dangerous demon in the facility attempted to go down the same route to at least _see_ if it was possible to flirt his way out of his chains. He hopes he doesn’t have to deal with flirting over dinner. That’d be terribly awkward.

“Tch. Right. _Human.”_ The guard rolls his eyes at that. “Wouldn’t be surprised if the only thing that kept him from turning you into red paste was the suppressors.”

"What little I could get from him is that he's playing a game." He waves a hand. "If he isn't keeping me alive for that reason, then... yes, I imagine it's the suppressors. Which is good. That means science is working. In a world of magic." He isn't afraid to admit that he doesn't have a single idea as to how any of the technology works. But he would never say it in those words.

“A game?” The guard glances at him at that, then away. “Oh great. Now we have _two_ demons with God complexes in this place.”

"Two?" He smirks. "Who's the second?"

“The fucking snake that you were just talking to. Brooks.” He gives him another quick glare at that. “We all know what he’s done, what he tried to do. Don’t tell me that him wanting the world under his boot isn’t from some kind of fanatical fantasy to become a God.”

"If I had any guess, he leans more toward atheism than Christianity. He'd take offense at that statement." He has trouble keeping the amusement out of his voice. "He's a classic egomaniacal narcissist, but he has no care for what God wills. He'd rather upset God and proven Him wrong than take a seat of power handpicked by Him. Now!" He raises a finger. "Your King and Queen and their historical lineage...." Adam shrugs, chuckling.

The guard freezes for a moment before turning to glare at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, huh?”

He continues walking, shrugging again. "I'm simply saying, you have rulers who claim to be announced by God running your very own government, or at least acting as puppets. Those who live in glass houses...." He trails off.

The guard stares for a moment before gritting his teeth and continuing to walk. “We both know that’s nothing but primitive horseshit. Nobody believes that kind of crap now. Besides, your rulers were nothing but a bunch of fat men with wigs and powdered cheeks who wore dresses.”

"You've clearly never seen France. Nor your own parliament." He smirks at him again. "But anyways, Larry upstairs has a higher chance of having a God complex than Sir Pentious. The distinction is important."

“Who the fuck is Larry?”

"One of the demons on floor three?" He raises a brow. "Only eats with a spoon and collects bottle caps out of boredom?

“Oh… Yeah, that guy.” He shakes his head. “I can never keep track of how many demons we have locked up in here.”

"I simply try and remember names." He glances at his watch as they near the elevator. "I hope John Doe doesn't give anyone extra worries. He seems patient enough, but it's hard to tell at times."

“I’d rather not discuss anything about ‘hoping’ until you know him better. Assumptions get people killed, and with this guy, you really can’t afford that.” He presses the button for the lift and steps inside as it opens up.

"Unfortunately for me, assumptions and hope are the building blocks of most of my relationships down here." He smiles genuinely and steps in alongside him.

“Really? Like what?” The man glances at him as he flashes him that grin.

"Like assuming he'll let the feeding crew live in the hopes that he gets me to drop everything I'm doing to see him for the second time in just a few hours." Adam smiles more at him. "What did you say your name was again?"

“I never gave it the first time to be honest. Thought you’d‘ve been dead by now.” He extends a hand at that. “The name is Greg.”

"It's a pleasure to finally know your name, Greg." He takes his hand, giving him a solid shake. "Apologies for my manners these last few months. I've been all over the place, as I'm sure you can imagine."

“And I’m sorry for shoving you into Brook’s cell the first day you started the job.” He flashes his own sheepish grin at that. “I was scared you wouldn’t move fast enough and that guy gives me the creeps. Too many eyes, you know?”

"He is quite the odd sight to see." He scratches his temple, recalling the unsatisfactory first impression. "You get used to them after a while, I'll admit."

“I couldn’t.” He shivers visibly at that, grimacing. “I’m sure that bastard would want nothing more than to rip out my guts.”

"Given that you've been the bearer of bad news, I'd have to say you're more than likely right on that one." He stares at the doors of the elevator.

After a bit of a stretch of silence, the doors finally open to reveal the dimly lit hallways of floor ten, and Greg visibly shivers again as he moves to step out of the elevator, starting to walk through the corridor, down the hall, towards that same metal door that they both knew was at the end of it. The lights occasionally flickered, some already having given dark, and much like before, the cells lining the rest of the walls were all completely silent, as if daring to make a sound would spur the wrath of their newest prisoner.

As they near John Doe's room, a small amount of noise comes from it. Adam recognizes the pitch of his client, but there's another voice he doesn't quite recognize. He hadn't worked with many clients in straight jackets, but the "food crew" as they were known had a tendency to spoon feed the inmates who couldn't use their own hands. Hopefully Doe wouldn't take that as much of an insult.

As Greg finally begins to open the door, slowly undoing the slabs of metal that line the frame’s surface, the conversation from within becomes a bit more clear, to the point where Adam can actually hear what John Doe is saying, his voice sounding irritated, almost angry, and heavily exasperated to say the least.

“...know for a damn fact that my arms aren’t broken in these things! I don’t care if it’s “for your own safety”, I’m not being _fed_ like some kind of infant! Do you really think I’d be so emotionally daft as to immediately kill everyone around me if my hands were freed? I’m not an idiot! I know I wouldn’t be able to see anyone otherwise! So just stop _babbling_ and untie my hands from the jacket already!”

A man with short cropped black hair stands a few feet inside the room, seemingly unable to make a sound, and looks over at Adam as he slips inside the room. Adam grins at him and looks at John Doe, who looks as indignant as he sounds. "I hear we've been having some minor difficulties." He glances between the two of them.

John Doe stares right back at him from where he stood against the wall, his back resting against the cushioned padding, while a large metallic tray on wheels was resting between both him and the man with black hair, a smaller plastic tray of what appeared to contain mashed potatoes, green beans, and pre-cut slabs of cheap steak resting atop it. After a moment, the man sheepishly turns to face Adam at that. “He, uh...He refuses to let me feed him, Sir.”

John’s own lips curl into a bit of a sneer, displaying his teeth. “I can feed _myself_ just fine. I have arms. He just needs to undo the jacket. That’s all I asked him to do.”

"Ah. I see." Adam glances between them for a moment, then steps further into the room. "I may not have said this explicitly, Mr. John Doe, but we're not currently allowed to take you out of your restraints. Not only is it a safety hazard, but these kinds of restraints are set in place by higher management." He gives him a small, rueful smile. "Before the jacket comes off, you have to comply with at least some of the demands I've presented you."

After a moment of silence, the demon’s eyes, still glowing so brightly with that almost _golden_ hue, slowly narrow, and his sneer almost seems to curl down even further, clearly displeased, clearly angered, and something about that gaze makes Adam’s blood momentarily gain a soft chill that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. After a moment, the demon speaks, voice kept low. “...And what would those demands be again? You never quite told me last time, I believe. Very rude of you, Mr. Walker.”

"Ah." He isn't entirely used to being called out for being cagey in interviews. But he could play with this. He lets his brows furrow. "You asked me why I was here talking with you. I told you that I was here to answer questions, though I suppose I neglected to explain what those questions were. Apologies for the misstep on my part."

“Hmm...” John Doe’s eyes flick to the man with the black hair, then back, scowling softly. “I still refuse to be _spoon-fed._ It’s beyond degrading.”

"Then I suppose I'll be more forthright in the hopes that you'll eat sooner." He steps closer, moving past the other man. "Upper management wants to know who you are and why you were out in public when they found you. They want to know what you were planning to achieve and what you currently are planning. And by _who you are,_ they mean _everything._ Your past, where you live, your names, your age, who else knows you, when you died, what powers you possess." He pauses for a moment. "The questions I asked earlier were mostly so I could start establishing a case file for you, as well as a schedule, but I'd need more in order to convince the others to let you go."

John Doe straightens a touch as Adam moves closer, the chains around his neck and ankles jostling a touch as he does so, and slowly, those eyes of his narrow even more, his lips curling back over his teeth. He’s silent for a moment, merely glaring, stewing silently with visible anger, before he finally speaks, his voice a soft whisper. “Then I’m afraid I won’t be eating.”

"John..." Adam exhales, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. "You need to eat. Demons may not have the same metabolism as humans, but nutrients are still necessary."

“And I’d rather starve then let myself be fed like a helpless animal.” He glares toward the black haired man who takes a single step back, as if in fear.

"Okay, okay. I'll stop pressing." Adam raises his hands trying to placate both people in the room. He doesn't say anything, then glances to the food tray and walks over to it. "While I'm here, I may as well do what I said I would." He picks up the spoon and looks over the meat and vegetables.

"Mr. Walker?" The man gives him a confused look.

"I'm going to taste test his food, per request." He scoops up some mashed potatoes and quickly shovels it into his mouth.

The man’s eyes widen, and for a moment his skin pales, as if Adam had merely gone up and swallowed a razor blade rather than a simple piece of food. John Doe’s eyes snap to the man, and within an instant, his lips curl back in a deep snarl, though he doesn’t make a single move. “..So it _was_ drugged.”

The man jumps, as if those teeth had come within snapping distance, and he takes a step back. “I-I..It isn’t! It isn’t! I swear!”

Adam raises a brow. "I suppose I'll try the steak then." He goes to scoop up one of the squares.

John’s eyes dart towards him, blinking. “Are you sure you want to do that? The idiot over here basically just admitted that the food is drugged. You have no idea just how much they put in, especially if they’re trying to sedate _me._ Do you really want to be pumping in your entire body weight’s worth of drugs into your system?”

"If I end up in the hospital, the US military will pay for it and yell at the United Kingdom for it." He pops the steak into his mouth and starts chewing. "And it's an easy excuse to say you stuttered because a demon looked at you funny. I want _proof."_

“I..I, um...” The man looks increasingly more nervous, visibly starting to tremble now, and he moves to place a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Y-You really don’t need to-”

"Ah!" He swats the hand off him, the only reason he didn't entirely flip the man over his shoulder being the spoon clenched in his fist and the meat he was actively trying not to gag on. Not enough seasoning. Blegh. "Ah. No touching. That's - no." He moves around the cart, shivering and straightening his clothes, trying to calm his suddenly hammering heart.

The man flinches back as if he’s just been struck, quaking at this point, and his eyes flick back and forth between Adam and John Doe before inching toward the door. “M-Mr. Walker, please, this… This really isn’t necessary. You don’t need to test for anything.”

"Do you want me to eat more of this? Because I will." He scoops up a few string beans, though he can feel a slight weightlessness start creeping through his other hand's fingers.

“No!” The man’s voice rings out sharply, an alarmed shout, and he visibly winces, as if he had just made a fatal mistake.

John Doe had shifted to stare at Adam, eyes narrowed, a brow raised. “...Adam? How do you feel?”

"I can, uh, feel it, whatever it is." His heart rate is slowing back down to normal and he feels his legs wobble slightly as he puts the spoon down. There's a clattering noise he doesn't hear, but his hands are pressed against something metal now and the coldness is somehow helpful. "I don't... don't, uh..."

“Adam? _Adam?”_

John Doe’s voice was growing a touch more louder, yet also more a touch more distant. His chest was starting to grow a bit more tight, a bit more heavy, like it was growing harder to breath.

“Oh fuck, oh shit, shit, _shit!”_ There came the sound of the man probably pounding at the door. “Medic! We need a medic down here!”

"Wha'sa... wha'ya nee... medic…?" He shifts, trying to push himself upright (he was laying down, right?) and his vision blurs until he's staring at something mostly white. The notepad he had been holding all day hits the ground beside him as he strains to keep his eyes open. "Wha's....? Hahh..." His legs flop as he tries to move them. His tongue feels like rubber, his eyes start to feel as heavy as lead, and the whole of his vision begins to blur into a mess of colors, indistinguishable, blurry, and absolutely horrific. If he wasn’t so out of it, he would be absolutely terrified, and even in his state of delirium, he couldn’t help but shake and quiver, trying to force his mind to focus, to talk, _to breathe._ Amidst everything, he could just barely make out a feeling of nausea, and he manages to put together the thought of vomiting up whatever was wrong with him right before falling under a blissless slumber.

•••

Pentious sat there, quietly, in the silence of his cell, his coils strewn lazily upon his nest of blankets and pillows, his back resting against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His tail flickered back and forth along the sheets, and his tongue flickered impatiently in and out of his mouth, his hood already flared wide, the tips prickling against the very back of his neck. His hat was off of his head, resting atop his bedside table, the record player that he had earned from what felt like so long ago sitting silently next to it, its needle pulled up, even though a precise and clean record still sat within it’s chambers. He didn’t feel like playing music at the moment; music had a tendency to drive out his thoughts, to distract him from the inner workings of his mind, and at the moment, distractions was the last thing that he needed. The prison was now in a precarious position, loathed as he was to admit it, and he knew now more than ever that he had to be careful with what he told and what he didn’t. If those _fools_ that ran this vile cesspool of a military facility had _any_ idea of the kind of _beast_ that now laid within the walls…

Just the thought of it makes his scales prickle, tingling violently, like the sharp sting of an electric shock that was too weak to hurt but just strong enough to be _felt,_ and he clenches his teeth to avoid a hiss rumbling through his throat, his claws tightening around his arms as a cold chill slowly trickles down his spine to mix with the heat of his own boiling blood as his hood rattles like the uproarious clattering of thousands of bones. He despised the fear that filled him, loathed it, wished for nothing more than to take that fear in his claws and strangle it until it’s flimsy neck snapped like a reed under his palms, and the fact that he could do no such thing only served to fuel the flames behind that vicious desire even more. He hated the dwelling, looming, _choking_ magic that buzzed through the air, against his _skin,_ so thick and encompassing that it felt as if it was about to seep through the walls and suffocate him, and it only served to highlight the confinement of his prison, the hopelessly _cramped_ cage that he now found himself _pacing_ in, day after wretched day like a tiger within its own pitifully small pen. His claws itched with the urge to kill, to murder, to mutilate and _destroy,_ all in hopes of driving that horrendous fear away, to drain it’s vile poison from his mind by burning it away with the flames of his wrath, but all he could think to do was merely curl his claws around his arms even harder, trying to keep himself contained, from showing any weakness, any _fear_ that his despicable guards might be able to observe.

He dared not focus on the feeling of that magic. That magic that felt so much more than anything he’s ever felt before, and would possibly never feel again. Every demon’s own magical presence had a distinct sense to it, a way of feeling that was meant to represent the person’s soul within it. His own was thin, simple, barely there, but yet still glimmered and pulsed like a snake’s scales reflecting the sun’s light as it crawled through the grass. Rosie’s felt solid, firm, like that of a brick wall that could not be penetrated or seen beyond the presence it left in the air. There were many more within the building as well, all of them varied in shapes, sizes, and impacts to the senses, and for as long as Pentious had remained trapped, _Rosie_ had always been the one to be the most powerful, the most distinct presence within the prison. 

Until now.

This demon, this...This _monster._ The magic _pouring_ from the sheer shape of this new prisoner. 

_It felt as if he was staring up at the horizons of the sky itself._

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when the soft spark of pain flares through his arms, and he blinks, looking down to find his own claws having pierced through his scales in his arms, small rivulets of blood leaking free from his talons to start dripping down his skin. He slowly moves to retract his claws from the bloody puncture wounds, grimacing softly as he moves to grab a handkerchief from his coat pocket to wipe off his claws, before also moving to gingery dab at the cuts. He takes a deep breath as he does so, and he feels his hood slowly deflate, his simmering blood and his frigid spine start to loosen their iron grips over his mind. He had to think _calmly,_ had to think _carefully,_ or else this whole prison could wind up becoming his eternal grave. He knew that now. Now it was no longer a matter of waiting until his time to escape. Now it was _survival._

He pauses yet again, just as he realizes that the magic that’s been filling every inch of this prison, the air, the walls, his very _skin,_ had suddenly evaporated, vanished, without a trace, without a single sound or sign that it had been there at all. It was enough to make his breath catch. It was all gone, all absorbed from his room....and drawn into the form of a singular presence.

His head snaps up toward the air vent in his prison’s ceiling, and a snake stared back.

The snake, purple and purple striped, blinks at him as they make eye contact, the curve of its mouth too similar to a closed grin to be natural. The yellow in its eyes is too bright, the sharpness of its pupils too sharp, and it slips between a metal slit to peer down at him from above, seemingly looking him over from head to tail. Then, a voice, echoing and deep and _not there_ but there, in the back of his head, quiet and incredibly, unavoidably cocky.

 _Now aren’t_ you _quite the interesting one. I hadn’t been expecting to see another snake down here. Consider me pleasantly surprised._

Pentious felt his hood instantly snap back open again as a flare of anger, furious and wicked, pours into his claws, into his veins, and it’s only the fierce, twisting knot that’s turning his guts inside out that prevents him from immediately lunging to tear that snake out of its hiding place and rip it’s puny fangs out of his mouth. Instead, his hood rattles loudly, the tips shaking like the bones of the dead, and he lets his lips curl back into a vile snarl. “...What ssssort of sorcery is this, beast? A familiar? Shapeshifting? Possession of some animal that you lured in from above?”

 _Hush, hush. I can hear you quite fine without the shouting._ The snake lowers itself a little more, craning its neck to look at him. _Technically, it’s a form of telepathy. You could consider our little snake friend here a familiar of mine. Harmless, too. Entirely non-venomous. His name’s Crocosmia._

Pentious’s snarl grows even deeper, and he can’t help but let a scathing hiss rumble through his throat, though he dares not flash his fangs and let it run its course like some sort of rabid animal. Instead, all he merely does is move to raise himself up a touch higher, his tail visibly lashing back and forth, every inch of him shaking with rage, with the cold sweat that was sliding down his spine. “...Why have you come here?”

 _Oh, I just wanted to meet my neighbors, get a layout of the place. You know, the usual._ The snake lowers more, coming to eye level with Pentious, and flickers its tongue. _Of everyone in this damned place, this floor seems to hold the most powerful demons around. Except for me, of course._ The snake’s lips curl unnaturally, its grin widening.

Something in Pentious’s mind almost seems to _snap,_ the rage stewing in his claws suddenly flooding in to pool into his mind, his head, his _vision,_ and within an instant, his claws are around the throat of the snake, yanking it down from its perch to slam it up against the wall, holding it at just the precise point where it couldn’t arch down it’s head to bite him, his tongue flickering between his clenched teeth as he leans in close to the little beast, feeling every inch of himself quivering. _“That is not what I meant.”_

The snake, Crocosmia, hisses at him, writhing and whipping its tail around to find something to coil around. A laugh transmits into his mind. _Haha! Oh, you really are quite a card. Easy to anger, hm? Don’t like others stepping on your tail and waltzing into your territory? Or is this about something else?_

“You know _damn well_ what it’s about.” Pentious just barely refrains himself from crushing the snake’s windpipe like a reed, his hiss managing to slip into his words, his eyes flaring red. “You _let yourssself_ get captured. Let yourself be seen. You _wanted_ to come here. You want to be a prissssoner. _Why?”_

 _Now, if the kind Mr. Walker couldn’t weasel that out of me so quickly, what makes you think you can?_ That chuckle reaches him again. _No, I’d rather he go run to you, his well known, well behaved friend of a demon and rant to you about what I tell him. If your reaction is less than authentic, he’ll know about these nightly visits. You wouldn’t want to break his trust, would you?_

Pentious’s stewing rage is slowly melted away by some of that, the cold icy sensation of shock, slowly sliding down his back, and he feels his hood drop ever so slightly, his sneer momentarily fading. After a moment, it comes back, his eyes narrowing. “Are you ssssuggesting that I _spy_ on Walker for you? That I become your little _tool_ that will help you play with him for your amusssement? Why even bother with him at all? Don’t think I can’t feel it. Don’t think I don’t know. _I do,_ and I know _damn well_ the moment you get bored of this place, everyone in it will _die.”_

 _Oh, please, that’s so yesterday’s news. No, I don’t want you to spy on Walker. I’m merely trying to get us all on the same page. Besides, I could kill everyone_ except _a chosen few. Wouldn’t be difficult. And the Walker man is intriguing. Very nearly got himself killed for whatever mess of values he holds himself to. And he did it in front of me. How odd._

An icy chill slides down his spine at that, and he feels his hood drop. _“...What?”_

The snake slips out of his grip and slides over his arm, slowly starting to wrap around him. _Nothing too life threatening. He ate some of my food, and the government neglected to tell him they were putting chemicals in my mashed potatoes. Two bites and he was out._ The snake rests its chin on his forearm. _I have it on good authority that he’s doing just fine in a hospital out in whatever city is nearby._

Pentious flinches as soon as he feels the serpent’s form wrap around his arm, his other hand moving up as if to grab it again, but pauses as soon as the beast speaking through it mentions Walker within a hospital, and he feels his hood snap back up to rattle, lips curling back as he snarls softly. “Sssso you see Walker as a source of _entertainment,_ do you? A toy that you want to pick into pieces jusssst to see how he ticks?”

 _You could say that. He’s an interesting case. A human vouching for a demon? I wasn’t expecting to see anything unusual when I got here, but he’s already managed to give_ me _whiplash._ The snake picks up its head and cocks it to the side. _I think he’s more anxious than he lets on. Quite the brave face for a non-professional._ And _he manipulated his words to get what he wanted. A_ very _strange case indeed._

There was a slight pause, as Pentious processes this, and after a moment, his eyes narrow. “If Walker is the one you want, why come and talk to me?”

 _Because you, darling, are also an interesting case._ Crocosmia leans toward his other hand, curious. _A high ranking demon, on the same level as Rosie? I can tell your magic isn’t as powerful, but you’re just as much a threat as she is, are you? And besides, you’ve known Mr. Walker longer than I have, and if any of us want to escape this pit of fiends, we’ll need his help. I’m sure someone as smart as the Tyrant of the Skies would know that already._

Pentious stares for a moment at the snake’s form, at it’s lilac scales and piercing gold eyes, and he slowly lowers the hand that was moving to grip it, letting his tongue flicker out, softly. The magic that had surrounded him so, all absorbed and concentrated into that single serpent. He could feel it writhing beneath it’s flesh, swirling, like maggots festering under a bloated corpse, and it was enough to still leave his scales prickling. “..But you don’t need his help. You can easssily reduce this whole place to a powerless shell. Why bother with thisss whole charade and try to court Walker into letting us all go when you can easily escape with a sssnap of your finger. Don’t ssssell me a dog. I know you can.”

 _Because the fact that Adam Walker_ can _help implies that it’s possible he’d be_ willing _to help. And you know what happens when humans help sinners._ The snake looks back up at him, a gleam in its eyes. _At the very least, he’ll be a demon. But if he does enough damage...._

Pentious feels another cold chill slide down his spine, feels another rush of unease that forces his stomach to clench, and he feels his hood dropping ever so slightly. But at the same time, the very same coldness starts to ebb, starts to thaw, and he feels his tail curl and uncurl, idly, nervously. “...You sssense it too..”

 _It’s obvious to me. He has potential._ There’s almost a sigh, followed by a brief silence. _The moment I saw that smile on his face, it was clear that he had something to hide. He’s quite the cagey fellow too. Clammed up as soon as I started asking questions._

“Yess, He has a...tendency to do that at times.” His tail flicks, though still visibly curling, and he too goes quiet for a moment, glancing away, before glancing back toward the serpent. “Ssso what exactly are you proposing here? I imagine it isn’t jusssst me you plan to converse to on the matter..”

 _Oh, I've already discussed a few things with Rosie, and she's all on board._ The serpent smirks at him again. _And all we have to do is tempt him. Subtly._

His eyes glance downward for a moment, contemplating that, before looking back up. “Tempt him how? We don’t even know what ssssort of temptation his soul is being corrupted with. Yess, Rosie and I can _see_ it, but that doesn’t mean we can perceive what it truly is.”

 _Then you should be glad I can. He's gluttonous and envious, in varying degrees. The only thing is that I don't know_ what for. _And that's where you come in._ The snake shivers and hisses lightly, coiling further around his arm.

Pentious doesn’t exactly appreciate the tone in the man’s voice upon referring to himself, and he moves to stretch out his arm in an attempt to further distance the serpent from his face. “..What would you have me do, exactly? If I accept this sssscheme?”

 _Just observe. Pry when you feel it fits. Tell Rosie or I when you find anything._ The snake slithers back, moving closer to his wrist. _Coax him toward sin._

“Hmm...” His eyes narrow ever so slightly, and after a moment, his tongue flickers out between his teeth. “And if we fail?”

_Then we're all just demons, aren't we? Maybe I'll open the doors when I leave, if I'm feeling generous enough._

The vagueness in that last statement didn’t exactly give Pentious much hope. After a moment, he lets out a sigh, and he nods softly. “...Very well. I’ll do what I can.” His eyes narrow, and his tail flicks. “But do not assume I’ll be taking any orders.”

The snake hisses again, almost as if chuckling. _Of course not. Think of it like a game. Whoever poisons Adam first...._ Its eye glimmers, looking at him slyly. _Well, we'll see what happens when we get there._

“Yess, I suppose we will. Like a ssssnake in the grass...” He idly moves to lift his hand back up toward the vent shaft. “If that’s all you came here to disssscuss, then I ask you take your leave.”

 _As you wish, Sir Pentious._ It slides in between the slits of the vent, squirming its way back in. _I'll be in touch._

“Yes, I’m sure you will..” 

He waits until the presence of the snake seems to vanish entirely, and it’s then that he feels that overpowering _weight_ of that demon’s magic overtake the entirety of his room once more, like a deep, heavy fog that only is choosing to roll in, like a wave crashing against a shore, and he can’t help but hiss in disgust as the tingling sensation resumes itself against his skin. He crosses his arms once more, hissing softly as he feels his hood starting to unfurl and rattle, only to pause, when he realizes that he no longer felt the stinging pain from the cuts he made against his claws. He moves to pull out his arm from the sleeve of his coat, and it only takes a quick glance to confirm as such.

The wounds were completely gone. Not even a drop of blood remained.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we’re back on Hell On Earth! Apologies for the hiatus, some personal things came up on top of the pandemic and college.
> 
> Please leave a kudo and a comment if you like what you read <3

Adam feels floaty. Like he isn’t quite laying down, though he can tell that he is. There’s a dull ache in his throat and the roof of his mouth, but it isn’t all too bad. His arms are cold. He flexes his fingers before he opens his eyes, feeling rough cotton under his fingertips. His right arm feels overly tense. He turns his head and opens his eyes.

“What in...?” He blinks, staring at a tube leading into his arm, filled with clear liquid. He follows it up to a small bag, half empty, shriveled at the top, and stares for a long moment before looking further, seeing another bed beside him, empty, with disheveled covers. There’s at least two more before a window, and both of them seem occupied with sleeping bodies. He looks back down at his arm, staring at the needle again before noting that a pristine white sheet covers his legs. He wiggles his toes to prove to himself that he can, then looks over to his left to see if anyone is awake. There’s a light just a little bit away, seeming to lead into another section of the... hospital. He must be in a hospital. But there’s no one in or near the two beds before the door. “Hmph.” He lays his head down for a moment, then pushes himself upright, slowly.

He can feel the aching presence of the needle in his body, cold and sharp and aching like a bruise, and he can’t help but let his other arm shift to grip at the bandage that was keeping the tube in place, not going to rip it out, but just to confirm that there was, in fact, a needle in his arm. He feels his back crack in a few places as he moves to sit up, causing him to wince, and when he glances around, he doesn’t see any hide nor hair of a nurse. He glances down toward the IV stand to see if there was any kind of wheels on it’s end, but there wasn’t, and he can’t help but huff a touch. He was no idiot. He wasn’t going to go ripping needles out of his veins, and he doubted from the feeling in his legs that he could stand at the moment. But at the same time, he didn’t feel like just _laying_ there either. He taps his fingers against the sheets, looking back at the door. Maybe if he could get a nurse in here, he could get out of this place faster. But how? He’s nowhere near the hallway. And who knows what the others are in there for? He didn’t want to hear someone whining about him being loud for the next hour and a half. Or longer. He starts looking around for something solid to throw. Preferably small, and not some kind of sharp implement.

He pauses for a moment, before moving a hand behind him to grab his own pillow, lifting it up his head with the hand that wasn’t attached to an IV, and tossing it at the wall directly in front of him. It collides with the wall with little fanfare, and it flops back down to the floor, and for a moment, nothing happens. Then, there’s the sound of footsteps, and from his position, he’s able to see the face of a nurse sticking her head into the doorway, blinking, before moving to walk towards the pillow. It’s only when she picks it up that she glances toward him, and her eyes go wide, the pillow slipping between her fingers. “...Y..You’re awake.”

“Sorry to spook ya.” He almost cringes at the roughness to his voice, but instead keeps his smile wide. “This ghost isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.” Adam stretches a little bit, yawning. “What time is it? And what hospital am I at?”

“I..” The nurse seems to stare for a few moments before she shakes off the shock of it all. “It’s..3:30 PM, sir. You’re in the Beeston hospital, just outside of the town.”

“Three-thir...?” He tries to search through his fuzzy memory for a way to make the time make sense. He had been eating potatoes. For John Doe... for his _dinner_. Yeah, that was right. So how is it just past lunch? Unless...? “How long was I out? What day is it?”

“..February 11th, Sir.”

“The eleventh...” He thinks for a moment, then takes in a sharp breath. “It’s Wednesday. I need to be at work.” He shifts more upright, wincing as his head aches. Had it really been a day? Well, less than twenty-four hours, but close enough. He swallows roughly as a wave of dizziness passes over him. “Hngh.”

“I, uh, sir? You shouldn’t be moving, please, lay back down.” She moves to pick up the pillow again and places it back on the bed, hands hovering, clearly wanting to push him back down but at the same time seeming to understand that touching him isn’t the best idea. “Please, don’t try to stand, you had a lot of sedatives pumped into you, we don’t know if it’s messed with your nervous system yet.”

“Right. Dizzy.” It’s the last thing he remembers too. Laying on the ground with everything spinning around him. He carefully sets himself back down on the bed, and the wave vanishes a few seconds later. “Hmm. I feel a bit... lightheaded, but nothing else. My stomach feels...” He furrows his brows for a moment, trying to parse out the odd twinges of pain. It’s easy for him to recognize. “Hungry. I’m really hungry.”

“Right, that, yes. We had to...get the sedatives out of your stomach, so we needed to pump it.” The nurse takes a step back. “I’ll see if I can get anything for you to eat. I don’t think it’s wise for you to be eating solids yet, so you’ll have to make do with soup for now.” She moves to turn and walk away.

“That’s perfectly fine...” He shifts, closing his eyes for a moment, and then opens them again to watch her leave. He raises his left hand and watches it shake ever so slightly. “Hm.” Like hell is he going to ask for something sugary. Even if his blood sugar is dangerously low. He drops his arm and stares at the ceiling. He’s going to have a backlog at work.

He can’t help but let out a sigh at that, idly biting his lip. Had he really been unconscious for an entire _day_ ? Well, not so much a _full_ 24 hours, but the sheer fact that he had been unconscious that long is enough to make a chill idly creep down his spine. The sedatives that had been in that food must’ve been extremely strong if it was enough to knock him out in just a couple of seconds. He had only taken two bites too. Sure, he wasn’t exactly privy to how much was needed to knock out a _demon_ but still. He can only imagine that John Doe was meant to eat at least half of his meal before feeling the effects. Maybe the entire thing. And unless someone had proven to him that they hadn’t drugged any of his food, he probably hasn’t eaten yet either. Doe had been _rather_ adamant about refusing food. Guh. It’s even possible that he’s caused some kind of scene. Hopefully nobody’s gotten killed. And hopefully Sir Pentious and Rosie and some of his other patients aren’t all too worried about him. Adam had managed to make some pretty clear progress with almost all the demons he came into contact with. Some even offered to shiv a few guards for him. Hopefully they’ll understand the little change in schedule.

He can’t help but let out another sigh, trilling his fingers against the railing of the bed for a moment. He idly wondered if this would be enough to get him fired from his job. Fired and quietly taken outback to have a bullet fired into his skull. He was no fool. He knew damn well the only reason he was still alive was that he was good at his job, and at least with the demons, he knew that the only reason they didn’t kill him was because they _liked_ him. Doe is still a question mark. He seems to not appreciate being someone's pawn, and enough to at least tolerate Adam's presence within the facility. But he had also forgotten to mention the rules, about how Doe would get the restraints removed. Which clearly made him more belligerent. And didn't help with his (rightful) paranoia. And eating his food most certainly was some kind of breach in protocol. And definitely exposed the military as less than trustworthy.

God, he hopes there's no paperwork involved in this. The last thing he needs is more paperwork.

There was the sound of at least two other footsteps, and when he lifts his head, not only does he see the nurse, carrying what looks to be a wooden tray that had a steaming bowl within it, but also a man right behind her, holding what looks to be a clipboard as well as a pencil. The nurse is quick to set the tray to the side on a bedside table and moves to slowly adjust the bed so that Adam is sitting more upright. The doctor, meanwhile, affixes Adam with a stern, but almost shocked gaze. “Well, young man, I have no other way to say this, but...You’re god damn lucky.”

Adam beams at him as he's set upright, holding back a chuckle only because he knows it'll irritate his throat more. "So I've heard. How close was it this time? I don't recall seeing the Grim Reaper or a light at the end of a tunnel."

“Well...” The doctor sighs a touch, tapping his pencil against his clipboard for a moment. “You had at least 5 times the normal amount of sedatives it takes to properly knock out a man with your body weight in your system. As far as I know, it’s about the same quantity that they’d use on an elephant. I’m not sure how exactly you went about getting all of those drugs in your system, but...You should not be alive. At all. Period. In fact your heart should’ve stopped the moment you went under.”

"Oh really?" That's a new one. His brows shoot up, a little surprised at that. Well. He shouldn't be surprised, but here he is. "Seems like I get another chance at life. Heh."

“Yes, I suppose you do.” The doctor lets out a sigh, before speaking again. “Anything you’re feeling right now? Dizziness? Nausea? A weak heartbeat?”

"I was dizzy earlier, when I sat up." Adam swallows, feeling his stomach grumble as the smell of the soup fills the room. "I think it's just low blood sugar. Not eating and all. And I'm a bit tired but not... _sleeping_ tired." His schedule pops back into mind and he raises a hand, pointing it at the ceiling. "I have a really important job that I need to get back to. Is there any idea when I can get this off and leave?" He waves at the needle in his arm.

The doctor blinks at him as if he had just decided to rip off the needle entirely. “...Young man, you shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about going back to work right now. God only knows what those sedatives did to your nerves, your brain, Hell, just imagine what it might’ve done to your heart. Just the fact that you’re already wide awake only a day after is miraculous enough.”

All valid points, but- "I don't think you understand. I have a very particular job that only I can do, and it's rather time sensitive. I'm already losing time as is. I need to return to work as soon as possible." Getting out of this hospital is merely an added plus in Adam's mind. He'll die of boredom before he dies of negative side effects.

“And I think _you_ don’t understand that, by all accounts, you should not be alive right now. We have no idea if your heart will unexpectedly give out on you or not. It’s not safe to suddenly get up and go back to work, whatever it may be.”

Well. When a doctor says it like that, it's hard to argue. He flattens his smile for a moment and then points at his arm. "If that's the case, then can I get this removed? And how long do you think I'll have to be staying here? The rest of the week? Longer?" He can't fathom being stuck in this place for even a week.

“Hmm...” He narrows his eyes for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, no. Best to keep it in until we deem you fit to leave. As for how long you need to stay..” He taps his pencil against his clipboard. “Perhaps at least 3 more days.”

"The rest of the week." Adam stares at him despite having just thought of the response. "In three days it's Saturday." He narrows his eyes after a moment. "Oh, I see. Keep me here that long and you guarantee I stay out of work until Monday."

The doctor blinks again, a tad shocked, before his brow furrows. “I don’t exactly see the fuss, young man. We’re trying to make sure that you’re well and not ready to die the moment you walk out the door.”

"Sometimes..." No, that isn't right. He shouldn't say that. Adam takes a breath. "I get restless in hospitals. Not much to do, laying in bed."

“Hmm...” The doctor narrows his eyes, as if trying to determine if he was lying or not. “..Do you think your job is really so important that it can’t wait for the three days?”

"I more than think so. I know so." He shifts a little in his bed. "And if you want to check with someone else, you can ask the military. British or American. I work with both."

The doctor is quiet for a moment, glancing down at the clipboard, seeming to read over it intensely before he lets out a sigh. “...At least stay for the rest of today. Just to make sure there isn’t any lingering damage.”

Adam considers it. After a moment, he nods. "I suppose I can stay busy for that long." He grins at him. "I'll make sure to throw my pillow again if I need any help."

“Hmm.” The doctor nods right back, then sighs, slipping the pencil into its proper place within the clipboard. “If there’s nothing else you need to tell us, I’ll be on my way then. Count yourself lucky, my good man. A more religious person would say that God gave you a second chance.”

Hah. That's almost funny. Adam wouldn't say it out loud, but he's always been the type to think God didn't give a damn until a person is dead. "I'm definitely lucky, I'll tell you that much." He looks over at the tray with his soup. "Could you hand that over before you leave?"

“Yes, yes, of course. Do you want me to notify your, uh...employers that you’re awake?”

“Um. Sure. They’re probably waiting anyways.” Adam shifts, not particularly looking forward to facing upper management. “Oh, and my glasses. I should have had a pair with me coming in.”

“Of course. I’ll have another nurse fetch them as soon as they can.” The doctor nods and moves to walk out of the room. 

The nurse, meanwhile, moves to gently settle the tray that held the soup across his lap, and she flashes him a soft smile. “Think you’re able to eat by yourself?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” He smiles at her in return, taking the tray. He picks up the spoon, stirs the bowl, and sips at the soup. “I may be a bit clumsy, but I’m not _that_ clumsy.”

“Just making sure. I noted you were a bit shaky earlier, that’s all. Is there anything else you need?”

Maybe some salt. Or pepper. “No, this is fine. Thank you.” Adam looks back to his food and continues eating. It’s not entirely bland, but it’s not well seasoned. Something about it vaguely reminds him of the better than the worse emergency military rations he had been forced to consume not all too long ago.

“Alrighty. If you need anything, try not to hit the paintings with your pillow.” She chuckles a bit at what seems to be a bit of a jab on her part and turns to walk away.

He chuckles in return. “No promises!” His stomach gurgles and he returns to wolfing down his soup. The more he eats, the more he notices his hunger.

The nurse seems to fight back a giggle, and she moves to walk out of the room, it’s only when she fully disappears from sight that her voice is heard once more. “Oh, uh, sir, I don’t think you’re allowed in this hall of the building. This is a recovery room and we can’t afford to have visit-“

“Miss, please, I need to see someone. I have a letter to deliver and it’s extremely important.” A gruff, male voice interrupts her, and with the dialect it carries, Adam immediately identifies it as British. The nurse doesn’t respond, and after a few short seconds, the figure of a man dressed in a sooty green jacket covered in what look to be medallions struts into the room. His eyes narrow as soon as he sees Adam, and moves to stand in front of the end of the bed. “..You’re quite lucky you’re not entirely under our jurisdiction, son. You know that?”

Adam swallows his spoonful of soup and smiles at him. “I didn’t know I was your _son_. Want to run that by me again?” He sets his spoon down. “What precisely has gotten your whiskers all twisted?”

The man’s eyes narrow. “You know damn well what.” He silently moves to pull something out of his jacket, and for a split second, Adam feels his breath catch. But then the smooth surface of an envelope is revealed, and he holds it out toward him. “Sadly, I’m only here to deliver a message.”

“Hm.” He lets himself relax, his arm throbbing from how his muscles had tightened against the needle in his arm. “Is everyone really so pissed off I put my client’s well being ahead of my own? Or are you all just terrified of losing an asset in a way you can’t control?”

“Your job isn’t to shovel sedatives into your mouth, nor is it your job to _look after_ your so called _clients_. Your job is to get information. That’s it.” 

“Which I can’t do if they don’t trust me or if they’re incapacitated.” Adam gives the man a look, scanning over the impressive looking medals attached to his jacket. He glances at his cuff, finding the embroidery, the line within the pattern, and the three detailed diamond stars. He isn’t sure what the proper name for them is. But he knows the rank. “Tell me, Captain. If you have a platoon of new cadets who are either terrified out of their wits or too arrogant for their own good, some of them maybe playing pranks on each other, and then they find out their food supply is poisoned - what do you do when the next shipment of clean food comes in? You think you can get them all working together by making them eat first?” He smirks at him and shakes his head. “No. You eat first, to show them what trust and loyalty are. It’s the same with my clients. And you and your God damned military are only making my job harder by keeping me out of the loop of prisoner conditions.”

“Tch. I didn’t come here to get scolded by a boy fresh off the boat of the American military. Just read the goddamn letter.” He tosses it onto his lap, just barely missing the bowl of soup, and he turns to start stalking away. “Your bosses don’t want a lecture on the importance of friendship.”

He flinches a little, not wanting his soup to get even worse with the addition of paper. He huffs. “How about a lecture on proper leadership, _Captain_?” He glares at him, then picks up the letter, looking it over.

He sees the man flash some sort of gesture in the corner of his eye just before he disappears from sight, and he’s certain it wasn’t exactly the friendly type. The letter itself had an official wax stamp on it, displaying the same old bald eagle clutching the olive branch and the spears in its talons, and he soon moves to tear open the envelope, unfurling a letter that appeared to have been written in typewriter ink. 

_To Corporal Adam Walker,_

_This letter is being sent to you by Colonel Allan Knight in regards to your behavior on February 10th, due to a certain John Doe. I’m sure you’re aware of how dangerous this whole operation is, how tightly kept and how vital it is, not only to the safety of the common public, but also to all of the nations of the world. The operations I speak of were only made for one thing and one thing only; to detain and keep confined the most dangerous and wicked beings death has to offer to all of humanity. It is not some dramatic novella in which you can play out a white knight fantasy. We can not afford to have outbursts like this again._

Oh, great. A _colonel_ . The military must be pretty serious about this one. He exhales as he reads the rest of the letter, rolling his eyes at the reiterating of the obvious current events. He narrows his eyes at the term _white knight fantasy._ “Heh. He doesn’t know who I am. Talk about bad communications.”

_Let it be known that if such an incident should occur again, you shall be stripped of all your ranking and shall be court marshaled for your offenses. This is a grave and serious matter, Corporal. Make sure it doesn’t happen again._

“Jesus.” Court marshaled. For doing his own job. For trying to gain trust in order to get information. He lowers the letter, not wanting to read anymore. He rolls his jaw and tilts his head back, resisting the urge to crumple the paper into a ball. After a moment, he refolds the letter and tucks it back into the envelope, and then slips it into a pocket on the inside of his shirt. He stares at the bowl of soup, already half empty, and sighs before continuing to eat. One day. He’s here for just one day. Then he can get back on schedule.

He makes a small mental note to check up on John Doe when he goes back to work. Just to make sure they haven’t been force-feeding the man.

•••

There is always a certain amount of “normalcy” allotted to the prisoners of Britain’s Beeston Military Facility. A whole war could be waged and entire housing settlements bombed and there would only be a few minor hiccups to the routine cycle meant to keep the demons sane while confined to their little cement boxes. And the most reliable of routines would be the bi weekly visits to the greenhouse, an underground contraption of grass and trees and flowers that some of the more privileged inmates got to take care of. There’s even a lift that takes them to a reinforced glass box so they can soak in some natural light, though the greenhouse itself had simulated rays for those who didn’t want to bother with the fake sense of freedom. The ring of cement walls around the box tends to make the view less than enjoyable.

Rosie, in all her ghoulish time in these walls, is one of the most frequent visitors to that above ground cubicle. The sunlight helps her think up new ideas for her many businesses, and on occasion helps her overhear some odd command shouted amongst soldiers she couldn’t see. But she has no desire for the surface today. There are more important things to be done. She lays a blanket under the largest tree of the greenhouse and takes a seat, resting her back against its trunk.

“You better not be sulking up there.” Rosie crosses her arms and looks up at the canopy.

“I’m not _ssssulking_. Why would I be sulking?” A black and golden tail briefly is seen flickering amongst the leaves.

“Perhaps because our favorite human hasn’t come into work for the first time in his career, and the guards refuse to explain anything.” She dips in and out of English and German, an open invitation for Pentious to divulge any information that could be deemed suspicious or too important.

“Hmph. He’s not my _favorite_ , Rosie. He’s just the only one I can _tolerate_.” His head moves to peek out of the mess of leaves that surround them both, and though his head hangs upside down, his hood is flared wide, and his hat remains on top of his head. “Assss for the guards, they never explain anything to begin with.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a shame really. They’re all so tense all the time.” She chuckles a little. “It’s almost like they think they’re not allowed to relax every now and then.”

“Mossst likely because they make the assumption that if they relax, they’ll be dead. Which isn’t _entirely_ wrong.” He lets a chuckle of his own out, his lips pulling back to display his teeth in a vile smirk.

“Haha! There’s the Sir Pentious I know.” She smirks in return. “Anything interesting happen overnight?”

The smirk immediately drops, and his eyes narrow a touch. “Perhapsss...” His head ducks a touch lower, exposing his arms as he leans against the bark. “...Do you see a purple snake anywhere around?”

“A purple snake?” Her brows raise, recognition in her voice, and she looks around the tree for any odd color. “I haven’t seen any today, no.”

“Hmmm...” He slips into full German for this one, narrowing his eyes toward her. “Did it sssspeak to you too?”

She blinks. “Yes. Did it mention anything about how it got out?”

“No..But it was sent by the beast that arrived yesterday. It explained a plan the monster had for Walker. A plan _you_ seemed to be all for.” He narrows his eyes a touch, and his hood shivers as it lets out a low rattle.

Rosie gives him an unimpressed look. “If there’s any way for us to bypass the upper ten, we’ll need help. He’s our only friend down here beside each other.”

“And you choose to trust the word of some..some... _monster_ ? We don’t know what he could be planning, Rosie! We don’t know what he wants, least of all what he wants with _Walker_.” He growls, furiously whispering, hissing, his tongue sliding out to flicker between his teeth.

“Because he felt in Walker the same thing I felt the first time I saw him.” Her gaze hardens. “You aren’t skilled in seeking out souls, Pentious. And you’re smart but paranoid. Just think for a moment.” She shifts around to face him more easily. “A demon of his power gets himself caught, can leave any time, but instead reaches out to the two most powerful demons down here. He blatantly mentions that he’s intrigued by one _singular_ human, and it’s not someone of high rank. It’s the person who’s been hovering around demons for almost _six months,_ partly of his own free will. What does that mean?”

His eyes narrow softly, and for a moment, he doesn’t speak. “...I know what you mean, and I’ll have you know that I can see it just as well.” He lets out an idle sigh, and his hood lets out a soft rattle as it quivers. “..But you also feel _that_ too, don’t you? This demon, whoever, no, _what_ ever he is..” He goes silent for a moment, his teeth gritted. “..I don’t like this. This doesn’t feel like part of a plan. This feels like a _game_ and we’re being used like _pawns_.”

“Hmm...” She crosses her arms. “We don’t know enough. That’s why it feels like a game, and like we’re pawns. But I still think he’s on the right track. And even if we _did_ refuse to play along, he’ll still go about manipulating Walker.” She glances at the nearest guards, but they aren’t paying much attention to either of them. “Look, if you don’t want a part in this, you can tell Adam everything. At the very least, you’ll get his trust, and he’ll be wary of... Doe.” The last names doubling as words that can be translated into German is a massive help in keeping their conversations discreet. “But he still has to work here, and he still has to get information out of us. And that includes Doe, which means he _will_ be spending more and more time with him. But if you piss him off....” She shakes her head and shrugs. “I can’t help you. The both of us together couldn’t fight off his magic even if you had full access to your entire arsenal.”

His teeth grit at that last sentence, and his hood rattled yet again, his claws idly moving to dig into the bark of the tree. “I know. No matter what we do, if this Doe decides we’re not useful to him or if we’re blocking his way to Walker, then...” He can’t help but let out a soft hiss. “I’m not going to break the agreement. It would be foolish to do so now. But, still. We need to be careful.”

“And the best way to be careful is to _not_ tell Adam, but get as close to him as you possibly can. If Doe double crosses us, Walker may still help us. But only if he trusts us just as much as he trusts Doe.” Rosie watches him for a moment. “You get that, right?”

“..Crystal clear.” He lets out a sigh, moving to rub a hand over his face, but then pauses. “..Did the snake tell you what happened to Walker?”

“He wasn’t particularly clear, but it sounded like something food related.” She shrugs, then fixes her gloves. “He mentioned something about Walker being an idiot as well.”

“Apparently he decided to test Doe’s food to see if it was drugged. And, well, we both remember our first meals as prisoners, do we not?”

Rosie rolls her eyes, though it’s somewhat difficult to see with her blank sockets. “That man is going to be lucky if I don’t rip his ear off when he gets back.” She frowns after a moment. “Wait. He ate _Doe’s_ food and he’s _alive_?”

“According to the ssssnake, yes. He seemed _quite_ confident that Walker is alive and well. Too confident.”

“The amount of barbiturates they put into our food is ridiculously high, especially in comparison to a human.” She gives him a worried look. “And Walker is _well_ below the average weight of a man his height. He should have died within an hour.”

“That’s not what the snake said. He said that Walker was not only alive, but _recovering_.”

Rosie takes that in and leans back, looking at him strangely. “Do you think he... No. He has suppressors in his room.”

Pentious gives her an almost withering look at that. “You really think _suppressors_ can do a damn thing against _that_ ? You feel it even _more_ than I do.”

“They do plenty to me!” She waves a hand and one of the guards looks over. “I can barely make a flash of light without my hands seizing. _Healing_ magic itself is _ridiculously_ difficult. And I knew plenty of witches in the States who spent years perfecting the craft.”

He narrows his eyes towards her, lowering his voice. “And we’re talking about an _unknown_ demon who’s able to send his little familiar back and forth through the _air vents_ without anyone _knowing_ . This..” He hisses to himself for a moment. “This...man...whatever he is, I have no doubts in my mind that all he’d have to do is snap his god damn _fingers_ and the entirety of this facility would become nothing but a _crater_ . I could feel it, Rosie. I could feel it _everywhere_ . It was like I was on my back looking up into the _sky_ and not being able to see where it began or where it ended.” He shows her the sleeve of his jacket, jagged and ripped. “I pierced myself with my own claws yesterday just from _thinking_ about it, and the moment that snake left, my arms were completely healed.” He shoves the sleeve up to show off the scales of his arm, completely and utterly untouched by wounds or scars.

“Let me see that.” She stands up, trying to get a closer look at his wrist. There’s not even a hint of redness. She swallows roughly.

One of the guards shifts. “Hey. No touching, you two.”

Rosie gives him a glare, but lowers her arms. “Hm. I’ll have to think about this. If he can do that, he’s even stronger than I already anticipated.” She sits down and rubs her chin. “I used to know someone in Michigan who told stories about strong demons like this. Not like _this_ , obviously, but the odd percent of a percent of a percent who are even stronger than most surface demons.”

Pentious lets out an idle hiss at the sound of the guard, his tongue flickering out as he shoots the man a withering glare, but retracts his arm and tugs the sleeve back down. “I normally would never use something like rumorssss as a basis...But I fear it may be the only thing we _can_ do..”

“I’ll see what I can find, but I seem to remember...” She smiles a little. “The general _too strong to kill_ stuff, and maybe something about levitating.”

“..Well, unless you’ve been holding back some ssssecrets of yours, I don’t think either of us can levitate off the ground.” He smirks a touch at the thought. 

“Oh, you could generate enough hot air for the both of us, I’m certain.” Rosie chuckles, leaning back a touch. “But anyways, back to the subject at hand, have you ever considered summoning? As in, ritual summoning? For beings from the Underworld?”

“Hmm.” Pentious seems to narrow his eyes at that. “Are you sssuggesting this John Doe could be a result of something like that?”

“Well....” She purses her lips. “I don’t know. It’s highly unlikely, so I doubt it. But the story I hear from Michigan was about a demon who _summoned_ another demon. Which should technically be impossible.” 

“Sssummoned?” His hood flares a touch at that, and his eyes widen in surprise. “How? Why? What exactly happened?”

“Well, it’s an old story, so I’m not sure on _why_ , or even the veracity of the claims...” She looks aside, sighing a little. If anyone could hate relying on rumors more than Pentious, it’s Rosie. It stings more being the one spreading them, although perhaps more because she generally _wouldn’t_ spread rumors. Especially not the ones trusted to her. “I personally believe the story, at least the point of the demon being summoned by another demon. There were some markings left behind that indicated some historical accuracy, at least.” She shivers, recalling the images of clawed stone, carved wood, and permanent bloodstains the coven had been so kind enough to show her. She looks back up to Pentious. “A demon cannot lay hands on a summoning circle because of the inherent trappings set inside them. The demon who attempts as such sets off the trap and the entire spell is undone, their name morphed onto the circle and whatnot. But it’s impossible to perform a summoning without putting your hands _on_ the circle. Humans have no difficulty with it because they’re not of demonic nature. The coven said this demon made the summoning circle and, by nightfall, simply...” She shrugs. “Summoned their query. Accounts differ on _who_ was brought. Some say it was Satan, some say a higher ranking member of Hell’s court, others paint it as a beast of indescribable evil.”

“Hmm...” As expected, Pentious’s face shifts into one of skepticism, his eyes narrowed, his tongue flicking out. “Tch. Normally I’d call sssuch a story complete nonsense. I sssstill do, on accounts of the _demon_ somehow touching the summoning circle...” He trails off for a moment. “..Did this _coven_ find any traces of the demon that was summoned?”

“Apparently some of the elders’ family members _met_ the demon.” She sits forward, crossing her arms again. “They said their hellos and then walked off to kill half a neighboring town. And that is on record. You can still visit the memorial today.”

“..And when did thisss happen?”

“Mid to late seventeen hundreds.” She shrugs once again. “The place wasn’t even a state at the time, so the records are hard to find.”

“Hmmm...” Pentious narrows his eyes even more, his tail flicking. “..No. It’s just not posssible. Even if it _was_ somehow Satan or the Devil, there’s no way something that powerful could be walking around the Earth for as long as _two hundred years_ without being at _least_ seen _once_.”

“Hm.” Rosie gives him a look like she disagrees but doesn’t want to get into an argument. “Have you ever talked with Adam about his thoughts on divine and mythical creatures? I get the feeling you two would have quite the intriguing conversation.”

He stares at her for a moment, eyes narrowing, but then after a bit of silence, he sighs, before moving to glance around what he can see of the greenhouse. “From what I’ve seen of him, he’s more of a man of fact rather than religion. We don’t exactly talk about it much.”

She blinks at him, surprised. “He’s incredibly religious. Well. He says he’s more _spiritual_ than religious, but the point remains.” She raises a brow. “He’s never told you anything about that?”

“..If he did, would I have given that answer?” He raises a brow back, looking a tad confused. “He’s never said anything to me about ssspiritualism or religion.”

“Huh.” She thinks about that, frowning after a moment. “Do you think that’s because of our files? I mean, I am _very_ clear about my connections to witches. And I’m fairly certain you’ve cursed the guards out on the hypocrisy of religions at least once.”

He rolls his eyes as his lips twist into a scowl. “They kept threatening to dump _holy water_ on me to see if I would _melt_.”

“They are rather horrendous people, aren’t they?” Rosie glances at the guards around them. “Almost makes you want to curse them, if only they wouldn’t spit in your food as a result.”

“Would you believe me if I ssssaid one of them believes I was the Devil in human form when I was alive sssimply because my body was turned into a snake?”

“Please. I’ve been called a succubus just because I’m a woman.” She shakes her head in annoyance. “Most everyone in this facility are a bunch of brutes.”

“You can certainly say that again.” He narrows his eyes a touch toward a few who look their way. “Let’ssss just hope that Doe goes and rips some of their throats out.”

"Hah!" She laughs. "I'd love to see that happen. I doubt they'd last very long."

The two both share a laugh at that, and the officers around huff and grumble to themselves, recognizing enough of their words to piece together the basic conversation. Elsewhere in the room, not too far and not too close, a shrub shifts, gently, as if a slightly harsher breeze had shifted its leaves. A glint of purple shows through the thick foliage of green, and a slit pupil opens to gaze upon the demons gossiping in the garden.

•••

By the time Adam was finally released, it was 1:30 in the morning. The moon was high up above the streets, merely a thin crescent shape in the sky, flickering in and out as dark clouds passed by, bringing the soft twinkle of stars along with them. It was a welcome sight, and the sharp chill in the air was enough to make Adam’s lungs burn in a pleasant fashion, even as he tugged his coat harder around himself in an effort to keep warm, the snow from yesterday’s storm crunching softly under his feet as he walked past the many darkened buildings that lined the edge of Beeston’s limits. He had nothing else of his on him at the time he got sent to the hospital, so all he carried was a bottle full of pills tucked into his pants pocket, having been given strict orders to take them every 10 hours, and as far as he was concerned, he had taken the bottle just to keep the doctor from scolding him. He lets out a heavy sigh, his breath puffing out in a cloud of steam, idly wondering if he should eat when he got home or if he should just pass out on the bed.

They had tried talking him into staying for all the right reasons. No taxis at this time of night. Darkness on the roads. Coldness of winter. He rubs his arms, shaking the chill out of him. It's been worse, but he's never been that good in the cold. He could feel Louisiana's heat lingering in him, making the contrast uncomfortable and hostile. He should make food, or at least eat something when he gets inside. Make sure his metabolism is keeping up, as well as get the taste of hospital food out of his mouth. He'd have to wake up early anyways. Better to get as much food into his system as possible.

He squints at the road ahead of him. There's an awfully long way to go. Cooking starts feeling like more of a chore the longer he thinks about it. The sound of the snow seemed to block out all other sounds around him. There were no birds chirping, no squirrels, no rodents or any kind of animal to be seen, and as far as people went, the roads were mostly desolate as well. Mostly. From what he’s seen, there had been a few patrols that passed by, mainly consisting of groups of at least three or four, and they all carried some form of guns on them, the leaders often also wielding knives or even toting around a golden cross around their neck. Hunters, always patrolling the streets. No doubt on edge from the ruckus that John Doe had stirred up.

He pulls his jacket closer around him again, feeling the letter from his superior crinkle in his pocket. Hunters had always bothered him. They were the ones who attacked a demon in public, often resulting in civilian casualties. He wonders why they'd patrol the area anyways. A notable capture like Doe would probably tell other demons to steer clear of the area, wouldn't it? Or maybe it has to do with the amount of power that Doe holds? Adam recalls the look on Rosie's face. The split second break in her usually well made mask of calm and politeness. If demons could feel levels of magic... would they run toward it or away from it? He wonders, idly, what he would do in a demon's situation. He's always been the curious type, after all.

Another patrol passes by, a group of at least three, looking to be about teenagers, by the looks of it, not much younger than him. One of them moves to glance at him, staring for a moment. “Hey, you, you better watch yourself if you’re going on a walk. The boys over on Oak Street spotted a demon nearby. Some of them are saying it bit somebody.”

"I can handle myself, thank you. I may look like a walking stick, but I definitely hit like one too!" Adam flashes a grin at them, continuing to walk. "I'm on my way home anyways." Oak Street isn't all too far away. He'll have to keep the warning in mind.

“Alright, if you say so. If you see anything, don’t be afraid to start shouting.” The man who had spoken to him turns his head to keep walking.

He holds back a small laugh at that. Over the last few months, he had dealt with demons leaping at him from behind doors, pulling his legs out from under him while they hid under beds, even an attempt to bite his throat out. And that's not even getting into the last year of military deployment. There isn't much that makes him flinch these days. He'd feel more comfortable with his weapon on him, but he's not allowed to bring it to work, and as such doesn't have it on him now. He could probably outrun most demons to his house, though. Probably. He soon turns his head back to the street in front of him, slowly coming up on the corner where the bakery sat, knowing for a fact that his house was close now. The houses began to slowly separate, began to slowly make way for alleyways, left dark and untouched by the moonlight that dangled overhead, casting them in thick, darkened shadows.

He vaguely wondered what he should eat tonight. He knew he couldn’t just go to sleep on an empty stomach. The doctors and nurses told him not to eat too much, and to go slowly about things. There's chicken leftovers from a day or two ago. Two or three days, actually. Missing a whole day is still messing with him. Hm. Chicken. There may be a few vegetables he could make. _Coffee_. One cup wouldn't keep him awake anyways, so he may as well, at the very least to keep an oncoming headache out of the way. He glances up at the street signs, squinting through the snow caked onto the metal, and turns. Just a little while longer now. 

He just about passes the baker shop entirely when he hears the sound of a faint scratching sound, like someone was scraping a knife against a tin can, borderline loud within the emptiness of the snowy streets. He pauses for a moment, one foot still raised upwards, before he moves to glance around, just as there’s another faint scratch, followed by a soft mewl. The unmistakable sound of a kitten.

"Hm." He purses his lips, staring at the short distance to his home, and then caves, exhaling, and starts searching around for any sign of the cat. "Rodgers? Is that you? What have I told you about staying up past your bedtime?" He wanders into a small alley behind the bakery, trying to parse out the shadows from the walls. The trash cans that line the walls are notably moved further in, probably to avoid the cats from possibly rummaging through it to forge for food, and after a moment of idly tiptoeing further in, he’s able to spot the mangy old tomcat, sitting atop one of the lids of the can, pawing at it, growling to itself in a way that almost can be described as wary, his hackles raised, tail lashing back and forth. 

“Did they close the trash on you, little guy?” Adam walks over to him, slowing down a little as he gets closer, and holds a hand out for the cat to sniff. Satisfied with the prior experience of not getting chased after by this particular human, the cat licks his hand twice and then returns to pawing at the lid of the trash can. Adam sighs, petting him between the ears, and then carefully scoops him up. Rodgers growls, but doesn’t dig his claws into his arms. “Shh, shh, shh. You know me, don’t worry.” He reaches with a free hand to grab the lid and pulls it off with only a little work.

There came a sound from within the trash can as he does so, a short startled noise that sounded akin to the halfway point to a yelp and a scream, clearly not that of any kind of animal, and Rodgers visibly stiffens at the sound before letting out a low hiss, squirming and struggling in Adam’s grip before he’s finally dropped and quickly trots away and out of the alley. Adam stumbles back, both at the sudden noise and the struggling of the cat, quickly letting go of him and watching as he scampers away. “Guh. I was going to-” He exhales, takes another breath, and darts his eyes back to the trashcan. Odd noises. Best to have priorities set. He creeps closer, shifting the trashcan lid so he can slam it back onto the bin if he has to. The noise sounded all too... human. “H-hello?”

There wasn’t an answer, and as Adam lifts the lid, taking especially great care to not lean _over_ the bin, he can just barely make out what seems to be a quivering shape huddled within it. There was some panicked breathing, echoing within the metal frame, sounding rushed, sounding close to tears, and finally a small voice, feminine and soft. 

“ _P...Please don’t hurt me..._ ”

“Um.” It’s been a while since he’s heard that off the battlefield and not within the military facility. He swallows, lowering the trash lid a few inches to try and make out the shape a bit more. He could make out some wispy hair, but nothing much else. “I - I won’t. Don’t worry, um... What’s your name, dear? Do you live nearby? It’s a dreadful night to be staying outside.”

There’s another slow pause, the panicked breathing lessening just a touch, just by a slight margin, sounding less like the girl is about to cry and like she’s ready to collapse. There’s a moment of shifting from within the bin, and by the sound of it, there wasn’t much trash actually in it, shortly followed by a soft face slowly peeking out from over the edge. A bright white face, as white as the snow, marred by a slight smear of red that covered her mouth, two pink polka dots lining the edges of her lips, and a singular eye that burned a soft orange, like the hues within a flame. Her hair was a bright magenta hue, and she trembled, her pupil shrunken with fear. “......N-No, I don’t, I...My name is..N-Niffty.”

“Ah.” A demon. Right. Maybe those Hunters had actually been telling the truth. Looking her over, in the half-light of the night, he can make out the smear on her face as blood, though not her own. They had mentioned a demon biting someone. He glances toward the road. So many Hunters, all looking for such a small, terrified little thing? He looks back at her, giving her a soft smile. “My name’s Adam. I live just a block or two down the road. Would you like to warm up somewhere dry? And hopefully more comfortable than a tin can. I’ve tried that before. It’s not as comfortable as you’d think.”

She stares, her pupil wobbling a touch within her eye, her breath coming out in short, terrified bursts, and for a moment, she doesn’t say a word. No doubt trying to figure out if this was a trap or not. No doubt trying to determine if it was safe. She slowly moves herself up a bit more, exposing a worn down cloth around her shoulders that had a few rips and tears, looking remarkably similar to a small blouse, a faint blue in hue. “..Y..You won’t turn me in?”

“Why? Because you’re a demon?” His grin turns into a bit of a smirk. “I have a bit of a grudge against all the Hunters these days. Besides, I get the feeling you’re not one of the ones people need to worry about. Though I suppose you could do with more of a smile.” He chuckles lightly. Hopefully she doesn’t hear the nerves in it.

She’s silent again, still staring, still shaking, and she moves to slowly climb her way out of the can, the whole thing wobbling for a few moments before she hops off, managing to not tip it over. Her eye almost seemed to glow within the darkness of the night, and she immediately shifted into a crouch upon the ground, her eye snapping around wildly, as if expecting the glint of a gun to appear around the corner at any second.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay.” Adam holds his hands up, then carefully sets the lid halfway on top of the bin. He crouches in front of her and opens his jacket for her to see his waist and inside pockets. No weapons. After a moment, he pulls the jacket all the way off and holds it out to her. “You must be freezing.” The wind blows by and the skin on his arms prickle.

She flinches as he moves to place the lid back down, her body practically as still as a statue as he slowly crouches down in front of her, and it’s only when he reveals he has no weapons that her shoulders relax just a touch. Her claws glint in what little light of the moon makes its way through, her teeth come to almost dagger-like points, and when he moves to pull away his jacket, she slowly leans her weight back on her feet, as if preparing to bolt. She doesn’t take the jacket. “...You said you had a house?”

“Just a few blocks down, yeah.” Adam shivers, still waiting for her to take the jacket. “I live alone. It’s comfortable. I’ve got food too. And I know how to cook, I swear.” He smiles warmly. “I know I don’t look it, but I learned from the best.”

She still doesn’t move to take it, and a slight weariness creeps in over her gaze, blending with her apprehension. “...Can we start moving? Before they see us?”

Adam glances back at the road, then nods, slipping his coat back on and standing. “Yeah. Yeah, certainly. Are you comfortable walking on the sidewalk? I could carry you if you want. It may help hide your eye.”

She instantly takes a step back at that, her whole body stiffening, her pupil shrinking. She doesn’t answer.

“Or not! It’s alright. I entirely understand.” He holds his hands up placatingly. “I don’t like contact much myself. Um...” He glances down the alleyway. “We might be able to go further down this way and then cut out onto the street. How about that?”

Her body slowly seems to relax at that, and she takes another step back, her eye still trained on him even as her head turns halfway to glance down the way of the alley, her pupil visibly struggling to keep him in sight while also flickering in that direction. “..Yeah. Yeah. Sounds good.”

He notices the frantic spinning of her eye and nods, starting to walk down the alley. He rubs his arms and shivers. “Stay close, alright? I don’t want you to get lost.”

There’s a slight pause before there’s the sound of wood scraping across the ground, followed by soft footsteps that trail after him, and when he looks back, there’s a jagged wooden beam, at least the size of an actual knife, clutched in her hand, looking as if it had been a part of some frame, like the pole of a staircase, that had broken off. Her eye still moves around, still goes stiff at every distant holler, but still walks with him, trailing behind him ever so slightly.

Adam swallows, not particularly enjoying the thought of a demon behind him with anything resembling a weapon, but he looks ahead anyways. The only way he knows how to avoid death at the hands of a demon is to keep them as happy as possible for as long as you can. But that’s in a facility, with a guard presumably outside the room, regarding demons who know their own strengths and know their own magic. This demon, this girl... She’s terrified. She’s clutching a makeshift weapon rather than showing her own claws and teeth. She hid in a trashcan to avoid being caught. Something tells him she’s new to all of this. She may not have died all too long ago. The alley opens out onto the sidewalk on the other side of the block just a little ways away. The moment the shapes of the sidewalk, of the buildings and the unlit street lamps become visible, Niffty’s breath is heard to get a little stiffer, a little quieter, and her footsteps falter a touch before resuming their pace. She doesn’t speak, and Adam doesn’t fault her for it. The fact that she had actually managed to sneak into the city with everyone as high alert as they had been is practically a miracle in and of itself, even if she did wind up getting caught and needed to bite someone to get away.

Adam glances down the street for any sign of patrols, but he doesn’t see any. He gestures to Niffty to a house diagonally across the street and starts walking, glancing down the road as he crosses. The snow crunches a little under his feet. He hopes it doesn’t draw any unwanted attention. There’s the sound of rapid footsteps, and Adam catches sight of Niffty practically sprinting toward the house, quickly, almost nimbly, her footfalls barely making any impact through the snow, only sliding to a stop just in front of that particular house, pressing herself against the side of the building where the darkness was the most thick. Her eye stared back at him from that darkness, still burning that soft orange glow.

He grins at her, still keeping it as soft as he can. It’s probably more tired than anything. He had refused to sleep at the hospital anyways. He hurries a little across the street, careful not to slip, and walks up to a tall potted plant, brushing the snow away until he unveils a small seashell, pulling it away to reveal a key. He fidgets with the lock for a moment, his fingers starting to ache from the cold, and finally gets the door unlocked. He nods for Niffty to hurry inside. She hesitates for a moment, only a moment, staring at the door like it was about to grow fangs and swallow her whole before finally ducking inside, just as the sound of marching footsteps in the snow grows nearer. Adam glances over as the sound grows closer, kicking snow off his shoes, and offers a meager nod to whatever passersby see him before ducking into his house. He shivers one last time, closing his eyes and savoring the relative warmth of his house.

When he opens his eyes back up again, all he sees is the relative darkness of his house, only lit by whatever soft moonlight can make it from outside, and the glow of Niffty’s own gaze. She was currently pressing her back up against a wall under a table, not moving, not saying anything, merely crouched there, as if she was expecting to need to dive through one of the windows at any second. Adam carefully moves his hands on the wall, then hesitates. “I’m going to turn on the lights, just so things look normal, okay?” After a short moment, he flicks a switch and a dim light fills the room, illuminating a hallway connecting to the kitchen and living room, doors to a bedroom and bathroom. Niffty is in the far back, pressed against a desk he had moved into the living room a few months ago. She’s pale, shaking, her hair matted in a few places but almost fluffy otherwise. The smear on her face is most definitely blood. He stretches his grin tiredly. “Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expecting guests. And I haven’t been here for a few days now. Heater must have been off the entire time...” There’s a chill to the air despite being sheltered from the elements. He walks into the kitchen, turning a stove burner onto low and setting a pan on top of it. He wanders into the living room to check the heater. 

He finds that the heater is in fact, completely off, and though he winces a touch at the fact, he does realize that it was probably a good thing that it was; if it had been going this entire time, and with no one around to keep an eye on it, it very possibly could’ve overheated and possibly started a fire. That was the last thing he needed. He moves to unlatch the door to the heater, peeking inside just to make sure there was nothing in there like spiders or mice, before picking up a log of firewood that he had a small pile of sitting nearby, sliding it into the furnace. He places at least two more in there before closing the lid of the heater and cracking the wheel that would start up the flames. He could still feel Niffty staring at him. Her eye didn’t leave him for a second.

“Now, this can get pretty hot at times, so be careful with it. No setting clothes on it or leaning against it, alright?” He glances over at her, still kneeling, and then stands and walks back into the kitchen. “Do you want anything to eat? I haven’t had anything in hours. The oven will get the kitchen warmer faster as well, so if you’re cold...”

She doesn’t answer for a moment, but the soft padding of her feet against the floor (the poor thing didn’t even have _shoes_ ) is enough to signal that she’s following, slowly. She doesn’t say anything, but her eye watches him from the kitchen. She slowly nods, softly, looking a bit more timid but no longer like a deer that’s been scared stiff.

Adam opens his refrigerator, wide enough for Niffty to see, and looks over his food. Everything is a few days older than he had left it.... He grabs a leftover pot of soup, a bowl of mashed potatoes, seared chicken breasts, and a rather unimpressive looking salad topped with slivers of steak. “If you’re alright with it, I have to eat as much of this as possible tonight. I don’t like food going bad, and this was supposed to be my lunches for the last few days.”

Her eye flicks over it all, and after a moment, some of the weariness slowly melts away, just a touch. “..Right. Of course. Uh...What kind of soup is in there?” She points at the pot.

“Crab bisque. Made it myself.” He grins widely. “Onion pepper, celery, garlic, chicken broth, plenty of butter and plenty of wine.” He freezes for a moment. “I need to buy wine tomorrow. Lots of it. I’ll be right back!” He darts off, the sound of desk drawers being opened and closed, and then he’s back, writing into a notepad. “Wine, breakfast in the morning, running out of chicken....” Adam looks back up, seeming to snap out of his sudden scramble for a moment. “Sorry. Schedule crunch at work. Lots of... diplomatic things. Peace offerings for someone I’ve figuratively kicked in the shins.” The idea to perhaps make something for his superiors comes to mind, but he waves the idea aside immediately. It’d probably be used against him in some manner anyways.

Niffty was staring at him like he’s grown a second head, but after a moment, some tenseness in her shoulders starts to fall away, and she stares at him, brow furrowed. “..You..You’re really not like other people, are you?”

Adam puts his hands on his hips, beaming at her. “Not at all! Usually I get called _odd_ or _insane_ , though. Is there anything you don’t want out of this?” He gestures back to the food.

“Uhh..” She glances back at the food for a moment, staring at it, as if unsure. “..I think I’ll do without the salad. If that’s ok.”

He chuckles, taking the container and putting it back in the fridge, elbowing the door shut. “It was worth a shot. I’ll see if I can get rid of it tomorrow. Plenty of rabbits around here for a city.” He grabs a bottle of oil and tosses it in the pan he had set on the stove, then sets the chicken breasts in the pan and covers it with a steel lid. He clicks another burner on and starts working on reheating the bisque. There was a small pause from Niffty, before she moves to slip into a chair at a small table that was just off to the side. She continues to stare at him, this time with a soft frown, silent.

Once he has the bisque heating up, he checks on the chicken again and glances back at her. “Do you need anything at all? A drink? I have alcohol, milk, iced tea, coffee.”

She furrows her brow a bit, but after a moment, she looks away. “..Coffee’s fine. Thanks.”

Adam considers saying something for a moment, but his mind can’t formulate anything to say, so he merely walks across the room to start working on preparing coffee for the both of them. Sizzling fills the air from the chicken, and he takes a moment to turn the breasts and then stir the soup before filling the percolator with water. There was a long few minutes of silence where the food cooked and where nothing was said. Niffty had been given her mug of coffee, and she moved to sip at it with a slow, almost careful practice of someone who was trying to not immediately guzzle it all down, of someone who didn’t know when their next meal was going to be. It was something Adam had seen himself plenty of times in the trenches, and it was now all over this little demon’s face, where the blood still hadn’t been swept away.

As he sets the chicken aside on an empty burner and stirs the soup again, he grabs a cloth and dampens it with warm water. He approaches Niffty, slowly, making sure both his hands were visible. “Do you mind if I wipe your face? You still have, erm, blood...” He gestures to his own lips.

Her hands lift up to her lips for a moment, but her eye narrows in a silent glare, and she holds out her hand toward him, curling her fingers in a grabbing motion.

He feels like he should know better, or at least not feel as spurned for the expected response. “Or you could do it. Certainly.” He holds out the cloth for her. “If you have any questions you want to ask, feel free to ask them, by the by. I have nothing to hide from you.”

She takes the cloth, slowly moving to wipe around her mouth, gently washing away the streaks of blood that stain her face. When there’s no blood left, she merely takes a moment to stare up at him, frowning. “...Why save me?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he says immediately, “and if I didn’t and my mother were here, she’d tug on my ear ‘til there’s no ear to hold.” He lets his grin soften, and then looks down and away from her. “In all honesty, I know what they’d do to you. And I wouldn’t even wish it on my worst enemy. So defying the world it is, haha!” Whatever nerves have been eating at him show themselves in his voice. He has no idea what they’d do to him if he were caught.

She doesn’t answer right back for a moment, her eye narrowing softly. “..That’s it? That’s the only reason? You just...wanted to help?”

“Do I need another one?” Adam lets his brows come together, watching her, then moves back to the stove, pulling the soup off the burner and readying plates. “I, uh, you should know I’m part of the military. Technically still active. I’ve seen enough violence for a lifetime and I’m still rather young.”

“..The military?” Her eye widens at that, and it takes on more of a shocked look. “Like..You fought in the war?”

“Yeah. Frontlines and all.” He brings the plates over to the table, setting hers down before taking a seat. “It’s about as horrible as you’ve probably heard. If not worse.”

She stares at the plate for a moment, down at the chicken and mashed potatoes, and for a moment, she scans it over with her eye, slowly frowning, looking troubled, weary. It was a look that he had briefly seen on John Doe’s face when he had glanced at his tray (before Adam had elected to eat some of it). She slowly moves to grab at a fork and stabs into a piece of the chicken. “...The military hunts demons.”

“Yes. They do.” He looks down at his own plate, freely starting to eat his meal. The taste alone helps him calm down. His stomach rumbles, seeming to realize exactly how long it had been since he had eaten.

“How do I know you won’t turn me in?” She watches him for a moment, still frowning.

Adam honestly doesn’t have an answer for that. “I... suppose you don’t. I’m not sure how I’d prove to you that I wouldn’t.”

“...That’s what I thought.” She looks back down again, sighing softly. “..And...I can’t just _leave_ because the Hunters will get me...Great..”

“If you want to leave in the morning, feel free to.” He shrugs. It’s all he can offer. “I’m going to make breakfast and lunches for tomorrow since I have to leave early. I may not sleep either since I have work to wrap up. But I should have some better clothes you may be able to wear. I doubt it’d be a proper fit, but it’s something, and it can be hemmed.”

“..That..” She seems to glare at him for a moment. “Weren’t you listening? I _can’t leave_ . There are Hunters all _over_ this place. They all know I’m here. They’ll be looking all over for me. If I step out of this place, I’m done for.”

"I..." He seems to notice her one eye again. "I'm sorry. I have a makeup kit, but... I'm sorry."

Her glare doesn’t even so much as twitch, her voice dripping with bitterness, with sarcasm. “Yeah. Won’t do any good I’m afraid.” She sighs, finally moving to take a bite of the chicken. “..I’m..relieved that I’m not hiding in a trash can right now, yeah. But I’m not sure if this is any better. You either turn me in or you don’t. Either way, I can’t do a damn thing.”

Adam fidgets, another idea popping up into his mind. And then, almost simultaneously, a second. Both incredibly risky. He taps his potatoes, considering it. The makeup idea isn’t all too horrible, if it wasn’t for the obvious glaring detail that he couldn’t fix. He swallows what’s in his mouth and shakes his head. “No. No, actually, there may be a few more options than we’re thinking. Give me a minute.” He puts his fork down on his plate, standing and wandering into the other room again. There’s the sound of a key entering a slot and then a drawer opening, followed by papery noises and the drawer closing and locking again. He returns to the table with a stack of papers clipped together, and starts thumbing through it. The front page reads _Rosie - Skilled Sorceress, Level 9_ and, under that, in bold, _CLASSIFIED_ . “I have a rather strange job in the military, but I think I might be able to call in a favor. _Maybe_.”

She watches him thumb through the papers with a mystified frown, and her eye flicks from him to what he was fiddling with. “..A favor? Of what kind?”

“An exchange of information. I work with demons and one of them - this one, Rosie - knows quite a bit on spells. Especially - hah!” He finds a page he was looking for and shows it to her. “Illusion spells.”

She slowly takes the paper, looking it over for a moment, and her eye slowly widens. She looks up at him, shock clearly in her gaze. “You...You really think you can get a spell for me to use?”

“Potentially, yes.” He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a bit iffy. I have to give something in return, and it’ll be difficult for me to smuggle it in and out if it’s physical, but there’s potential. Rosie is the person I’m closest to in the facility, and she’s highly trained in all sorts of magic. We’ve chatted about it here and there over drinks even.”

“..I...I don’t even know what to say.” She stares down at the paper for a bit longer, before raising her gaze to him. “And..there’s nothing you want out of this? You’re not gonna rope me into some deal?”

“I don’t need anything.” He waves a hand as soon as she starts mentioning, gently taking the paper back and fitting it back into place. “It’s what makes me so great at my job, which, as far as anyone is concerned, is helping people like you.” He taps the papers together, clips them again, and sets them aside on a nearby surface. “The only thing I could want from you is your take on my dishes. I haven’t had a critic in what feels like years.”

She seems to blink at that before she glances down at the chicken. After a moment, she moves to pick up her fork and brings another bite of chicken to her mouth, chewing for a moment, frowning softly, as if contemplating. “...Could use a little more salt. I think it may also be a tad overcooked, or maybe it just sat in the fridge for too long. It’s a bit on the drier side.”

Adam chuckles, grinning widely at that. “And that’s what I get for being set up with the Brits for so long.” He takes a bite of the chicken and hums. “It is a bit drier than usual. I may have cooked it too long just now.”

“Yeah. The mashed potatoes seem fine though. Did you mash them yourself?” She moves to take a bite of them as well. “..Good blend of salt on that one. And butter.”

“Yeah, I can’t stand anything powdered. I’ve been on this kick of just...” He searches for the words. “Making everything rather than buying anything prepared. I rather enjoy it.”

“Well, I’d definitely say it’s an improvement. Most of the stuff I’ve been able to eat is...” She trails off for a second, wincing a touch. “It’s not that great. Mostly just scraps that I manage to find that aren’t too dirty or whatever I’m able to catch. So..I haven’t exactly been eating a lot lately.”

"Well, help yourself if you want more. And if you know how to make anything, have at it. I won't stop you." He chomps on another piece of chicken. "No one goes hungry under my roof."

•••

Adam barely sleeps that night. It's closer to four in the morning when he finishes talking with Niffty and wrapping up meals for the next day, as well as settling (temporary) sleeping arrangements. He refuses to let Niffty sleep on his couch, so he takes it himself for the hour and a half he manages between 4:30 and 6am. He feels worse when he wakes up, but coffee helps perk him up. He had selected his clothes the night before, so it was only a matter of minutes until he was out of the house again, a small suitcase with him to carry his breakfast, lunch, and medication. Some of his notes that he had laid out while in the hospital are in the case as well. He catches a bus whose last stop is the military compound.

On the outside, the building resembles an office building tall, wide, and daunting, but surrounded in militant patrols and the occasional squad running laps. It has the oddest feeling of a college campus, with its mix of brick and cement and glass walls. Adam steps off the bus with little fanfare, though he can feel the other occupants trying to physically distance themselves from him. It's nothing unusual, but today feels extra tense.

Perhaps it's the uniform he had been wearing under his jacket (entirely out of regulation, but necessary to avoid civilian suspicion), with a set of ribbons and a singular medal hanging from rainbow thread with a depiction of an angel holding a sword and shield embossed on the metal face. It's nothing spectacular, in his opinion, but his superiors always glared at it like it was the bane of their existence. The outfit isn't for them, but he hopes they think it is. He walks into the building and up to a desk, showing off his ID card before handing his suitcase over to an old clerk, who checks the contents. It's all part of a routine for Adam, except there's quite a bit less talking this time around.

By the time he's walking past the general admittance lines, he's spotted Colonel Knight.

He's never met the man before, never shook hands with him or anything, but he can tell by the amount of space around him, the insignia on his shoulders, and the occasional salute that he is in fact the Colonel he's looking for. He's not old, but older than young, with flecks of white peppering otherwise black hair. He isn't even looking in the right direction to keep an eye out for Adam, so he decided to perform a little ambush. Wandering toward the Colonel, both arms burdened by his suitcase and coat, he stops at a respectable distance from the man and clears his throat.

"Colonel Knight, sir? Corporal Adam Walker." Adam smiles broadly as the man turns to face him. "I believe you wanted to talk to me about something?"

Knight, after a moment of blinking, turns to face him with a slight scowl on his features. “Yes, I have. I hope you’ve come to your senses on the matter.”

"Seeing as I'm no longer passed out in a hospital ward, certainly." He continues smiling, knowing for a fact that he's using a different definition of _come to one's senses_. "I still can't believe that the British never informed me of their standard procedure with new inmates."

His eyes narrow a touch, and he doesn’t speak for a moment. “Like I said, it was never your job to know, Corporal.”

"With all due respect, sir." Adam raises his brows. "It's my _job_ to know the ins and outs of every single person I interrogate, and to then interrogate them according to how I see fit in an effort to supply the United States and its allies with as much information as possible. I can't hope to do so when the people I need to work with are slurring their words and integrating it into their minds that _I'm_ the reason they're drugged." He looks him straight in the eyes. "I need all my clients, including this one, to trust me. _Especially_ this one, sir."

The man stares for a moment, his eyes slightly wide, before they narrow a touch. “..And you expect us, to, what, not go about proper procedure on something as..” He pauses a touch, before leaning a touch closer. “ _dangerous_ as this?”

Adam doesn't even flinch, though he inwardly gags at the closing proximity. "I expect to be allowed to do what I have to in order to assure other elements of this project don't nullify the work that I do or make my work next to impossible."

The man goes quiet for a second, before he crosses his arms. “What exactly are you asking for?”

Adam watches him, unsure how he'll take his words. He sighs. "I'm going to have to do things that may seem unorthodox or like bending the rules here and there. When the people you are dealing with have been alive for almost a hundred years and have access to knowledge on honest to God _magic_ and killer weaponry, not to mention egos the size of the sun, you can't simply brute force answers out of them." He takes a moment to set down his suitcase and jacket, using his hands to talk. "The only reason I've been able to make such progress with everyone I work with is because they trust me. They don't see me as some random guy from the military who wants to use them to further multiple government's gains. They see me as someone they can simply talk to. Some... wacky guy who changes the usual pace here and there. And I _need them_ to keep thinking that."

Knight doesn’t move for a few moments, eyes narrowing softly. “..Ok, but what I take issue with is you putting yourself at risk in order to purposefully botch the standard procedure that this facility has laid out. It’s for the safety of everyone on this site.”

Adam watches him, his expression not budging a bit, and then shrugs. “I guess you’ll have to put it on my papers then. What happened happened. I can’t take it back. And I don’t regret finding out the truth, not only for the demons I interrogate, but for myself. The military here doesn’t trust me enough to tell me basic information. If you agree with them hiding that information from me, then it also means the United States government - _my_ government - doesn’t trust me either. Which tells me I’m being iced out.” He shrugs again, taking a half step back from the Colonel. “If I see another piece of evidence to that fact, I’ll be filing a complaint of my own. The United States endangering their own soldiers’ lives is not something most people like hearing, and it’s not something I like seeing. Sir.”

Knight’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks almost floored before his eyes then start to narrow, his lips turning down into a scowl. “Oh, is that how we’re going to play this? You do realize the information you want this facility to give is _top secret_ , simply due to the fact that it involves its most _top secret_ project, a project you are involved in, yes, but only with a very _small_ amount. You’re there to question and extract. That’s it.”

“And based on what I’ve been told,” he returns, “I’ve gotten more information for you and the Brits in the last six months than you _all_ have gotten in the last twenty to thirty years. I may be small, but I’m the most important and well working cog in your machine, Colonel Knight. All the data supports me.”

The man is silent for a moment, though by the look on his face, it seems like he’s growing more frustrated by the second. His hands slowly ball into fists at his sides. “..So what exactly are you proposing, Corporal?”

“I’m not proposing anything aside from you and the Captain who gave me your letter allowing me to do my job.” He takes the letter out from one of his pockets, showing him the envelope, but not handing it back to him. “When I first came here, my orders were to do whatever it takes to get information. And I’m doing that. And I’m going to continue to do that so long as I work here.”

“Hmmm..” He narrows his eyes at the letter like he wanted to take an open flame to it, but sighs, lifting a hand up to rub over the bridge of his nose. “...Look, I’m not exactly happy about this either, ok? I was set to go back home just a few days earlier, but _your_ bosses asked me to come in and stay here after you pulled your little stunt. They wanted me to “boost morale” or some crap like that. I don’t want to be here and I really don’t want to be standing here discussing the importance of _sharing tea_ with undead conquerors and magic witches. So, I’ll make you a deal. Leave me alone, don’t pull any shit like what you just did, and I’ll try to pull a few strings.”

Adam raises a brow and crosses his arms, looking him over. “Pull a few strings to do what exactly?”

“To...pull off whatever you do in a better fashion. Some of the people here tell me you do favors for these demons. Give them things to fiddle with and whatnot.”

He exhales. Of course someone would talk. Multiple people, by the sounds of it. “Newspapers and books mostly, wine for special occasions.” He watches him again, then shakes his head. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m trying to do you a favor here, ok? I know your bosses don’t exactly _know_ about this, and I’m willing to keep it quiet as long as you don’t pull any shit like _feeding yourself sedatives_ again.” He gives him a bit of a glare. “I’m saying I’m willing to...look the other way on a few things. Just to make sure you don’t go flipping your bosses the bird on a whim.”

Adam taps his arm, considering whether or not to simply burn the bridge immediately or let it burn slowly. It... honestly would be better to have at least someone partially on his side. Especially when the alternative is having multiple people of higher rank against him. “Okay. Alright. I’ll keep from eating any food I suspect to be poisoned or drugged in any sense. But I won’t stop eating with my clients as a whole. Pentious and Rosie talk the most when we eat together. It gives them a sense of normalcy, puts down their guard.”

“Alright, done.” He moves to point a finger at him. “And this little agreement of ours also means you don’t go messing around on purpose the moment your bosses piss you off, got it? I don’t want to hear shit about you breaking into anywhere trying to steal files or _whatever_ kinda rebellious shit you were trying to pull with eating Doe’s food.”

Adam’s brows raise, eyes widening. “You really have no clue about anything about me, do you? They threw you into this blind?”

Knight blinks at that, staring for a moment, as if thrown off, before he lets out a heavy sigh, lifting a hand to rub over his face. “...Does it _sound_ like they filled me in? They called me in here to keep your ass in line. That’s it. They know they can’t do shit to you so they called in a superior officer to do their job for them.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Sounds just like them. I’ll see about getting a general report to you tomorrow. Or whenever you’re next... here.” He gestures to the building. “I can get a more specific report to you by Monday regarding more recent updates and such.”

“That..honestly would be appreciated.” He lets out another heavy sigh, dragging his hand down his face to expose his eyes before letting it fall. “Anything else you need to say?”

“Have a good day?” He grins a bit more. “I have an early meeting with Doe starting soon. He seems a bit like the impatient type.”

“Hmm. Right. Go on then, Corporal, wouldn’t want to keep that bastard waiting.” He flaps a hand as he moves to turn and walk away. “Might want to keep an eye on him; I’ve been hearing some of the soldier’s saying that he hasn’t eaten ever since you left.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves a hand good-naturedly, amused by the warning. He had been assured by quite a few demons that the _eating humans_ narrative is more false than true. But there are demons who partake in it. He walks off toward the elevators.

He finds that Greg is stationed there, leaning up against the wall next to the doors of the shaft, and when he sees him coming, he does a very startled double take, his eyes widening before an incredulous smile overtakes his face. “Well I’ll be damned! Look who it is. And here I thought I was gonna have to be talking to some other new recruit in the next week or so.”

“Ah, it’ll take more than some mashed potatoes to kill me.” Adam beams at him. “Though maybe I would feel a bit bad for whatever new recruit has to deal with you.” He chuckles to show it’s all in jest. “I’m starting with John Doe today.”

“Blimey. So soon after you went to the hospital?” He moves to pull the elevator doors open, the both of them stepping inside. “Don’t yell at me in the afterlife if he smells your weakness and rips your throat out.”

“I don’t think he’ll do anything like that.” He sets his suitcase down as the doors close behind the both of them. “He’s playing a game, and as annoying as some things may be, I’ve made myself interesting to him. Hopefully.”

“Hehe. Well, I’ll be sure to try to keep an ear out for any screaming regardless.” He moves to pull the lever, and down the elevator goes, passing all of the floors as it does so.

Adam rolls his eyes, merely leaning against the back of the metal box. He crosses his arms and leans his head back, exhaling. The inside of his elbow still throbs where the needle had been, and his throat and sinus cavities ache from where tubes had been forced into his stomach and lungs. He closes his eyes for a moment. There was nothing else to fill the silence except the steady humming of the machinery around them, rumbling in his ears, before the elevator finally comes to a full stop, and the doors are pulled open to expose the final floor, still as dimly lit as ever, the lights flickering all around. Greg moves to walk forward, silent, leading him past all the cages, all quiet, almost disturbingly so. Adam grabs his case and jacket and walks after him. He doesn’t bother glancing at the other cages, merely readying himself for whatever John Doe would ask of him. He can just barely remember his voice among the distorted noise as he had passed out, and some part of him kept hearing _concern_ in his voice. He wonders if any of the guards had updated his clients on his status.

They soon reach that one door, the one that was so heavily fortified in comparison to all the others, and Greg moves to open it, pulling the slab to the side and undoing all the locks with his key. Finally, the door slowly creaks open, and what little light can be seen reveals John Doe, sitting there at the very back of the room, cross legged, those same chains still wrapped around his neck, his ankles, the straight jacket still wrapped tight around his torso. The muzzle was back on his face, though the grin he grew was still very apparent, as his eyes, still glowing that soft sickly yellow, slowly squinted. “Well, well, well. Look who's back from certain death.”

Adam smiles, walking into the room and setting his suitcase down beside him. “I suppose my liver’s a bit stronger than the average person’s, yes. I think I scared the nurses by waking up so quickly.”

The door slowly closes behind them, casting the room in almost complete darkness once more, only covered up by the glow of Doe’s eyes, who chuckles softly, shifting to sit up in a proper manner, chains jingling softly as he does so. “Did you now? I’m not _entirely_ surprised by such a thing; a lot of the doctors here were whispering about how you should have been dead within the hour at best.”

“Some people have told me I have a guardian angel watching over me.” He glances around the room, at the darkness, wondering if the lights had been shut off for a reason. Or if they’re supposed to be on but aren’t. “Are the lights still not on from sleeping hours? I would have thought they’d be on by now.”

“Oh, that, yes.” He tilts his head up towards the ceiling, smirking a touch. “I’m afraid electrical lights tend to...not work as much whenever I’m near them. Something about how my powers cause their inner workings to fail. These lights in particular haven’t so much as _flickered_ ever since I’ve been down here.”

“They were on when I was here a few days ago, weren’t they?” He looks back to Doe, raising a brow and watching him. The demon doesn’t move much, but Adam gets the distinct feeling that he’s enjoying this. Enjoying his discomfort. “Can you turn them on and off?”

“Hmm..I’m not sure if the suppressors that are affixed throughout the room will let me.” He shifts a touch, still so very obviously smirking beneath his mask. “How are you feeling since you got out? Dizzy at all? Slow to speak?” He leans forward a touch, giving him a scrutinizing eye. “You don’t _look_ like you’ve been damaged.”

“I was a little dizzy when I woke up, but nothing else to report.” He chuckles lightly, kneeling to flick open his suitcase and retrieve his pre-made breakfast sandwich. “You seem rather interested in my health, John Doe.”

“You’re the only person that will speak to me without looking like they’re about to faint. Or point a gun in my face. I don’t want to lose that.” He seems to smirk under his muzzle. “I’d be too bored down here.”

“Do you get bored often?” He stands with the paper bag in his hands, glancing at John Doe and contemplating if he should move any closer. It probably wouldn’t hurt. He starts walking toward him. “I mean, I can understand why you’d get bored _here_. Cement walls aren’t precisely conducive to the imagination.” He passes the halfway point of the room.

“Mm..A bit of a hard question. I suppose, under the circumstances that I wasn’t locked within a room, I would be a little _less_ bored, but I still think I’d find some boredom again after a while. I’m a bit of a hobbyist you see. Have started and dropped _many_ of them over the years.” He tilts his head, as if it’s a question he never had to ponder, but his eyes flick to watch Adam as soon as he starts walking closer. He doesn’t move, merely staring.

“I can understand that. Things simply don’t retain the same level of satisfaction after a while, right?” He continues walking until he’s fairly close, dangerously close to those chains. He kneels down in front of him, setting his bag aside. “May I take off your muzzle?”

Doe seems to raise a brow at such a question, though he seems to smirk. “And here I was having to talk you into it the last time we met.” He chuckles softly, but leans his head forward ever so slightly. “Go right ahead.”

“Please. I ate your potatoes for you and nearly died. I’ve gotten the bad luck over and dealt with it at this point.” Adam smirks, unlatching the muzzle and setting it aside before grabbing his bag and moving to sit beside Doe, careful not to get caught or hinder any of the chains. “I brought breakfast, by the way. It’s just a sandwich, but if you want any, I’m up for sharing. Made it myself and all.”

Doe takes a moment to shake his head a bit, opening his mouth to stretch his jaw, exposing those massive teeth, but when Adam mentions food, he glances toward him, before glancing down at the bag. “Not made in this prison’s kitchens, I hope.”

“No, no!” He laughs. “I made it at my house before coming here. And ignore the uniform.” He waves a hand at himself. “I had an impromptu and rather public meeting with my superiors. Hopefully, I’ll never have to wear it down here again.” He rummages through the bag, pulling out a sizable sandwich that had already been cut in half . The bread looks fluffy, stuffed with egg and ham and cheese. It smells fully seasoned. “Do you want any?”

Doe seems to narrow his eyes a touch toward the sandwich, then back up at Adam, then back down at the sandwich, frowning softly, before a bit of a grin lifts up his lips again. “Like I’m about to say no to such a generous offering.”

Adam grins widely, happy to hear him accept. He holds up one half of the sandwich for him. “I’ll give you the larger half, at least to sample my cooking.” He gets the feeling Doe wouldn’t appreciate any over voiced pity.

His grin seems to stretch wide at that, exposing every single one of those horribly large teeth. “Why thank you, darling. I already can’t wait.” 

He can’t help but chuckle at that. “Well, go on now, take a-”

Before Adam can so much as even flinch, Doe’s head practically seems to _lunge_ forward and his jaws come _snapping_ down inches away from where he held onto the sandwich, just barely missing his fingers, causing him to yelp and scramble back with a start. He watches, paralyzed, as Doe tilts his head back, and begins to steadily snap down the rest of the half that was still hanging out of his mouth, a large black tongue somehow managing to slither into view despite the size of the meal and takes delicate care to make sure nothing spills down his chin. Soon, the entire sandwich had disappeared down into Doe’s gullet after not even chewing, and he makes a show of licking his lips, a sizable grin on his face. “Mm...Lets see...I’m guessing salt, pepper, a little bit of garlic seasoning, annnd...did you happen to put mayonnaise?”

“Ah.” His fingers tingle as if they had been knicked by those wicked teeth and he glances at them to make sure he still has a hand before looking back at Doe. “Y-yeah. I... may have put a little mustard as well. _How-”_ His jaw flaps for a moment, mind still catching up with him, and then he shivers and shakes his head. “Don’t - please, warn me next time.” Adam can’t help but laugh at himself, picking up the other half of the sandwich and starting to eat it, careful to only drip onto the bag.

Doe can’t help but chuckle again, and he smirks towards the man, eyes narrowing a touch, raising a brow. “Afraid that I was going to bite a finger?”

“For a moment I thought you did!” There’s a chuckle to his voice despite the words. He takes another bite before continuing. “I’ve been spooked plenty on this job, but I don’t think I’ve ever gotten quite so close to losing a finger before.”

“Heheh. Oh, like I would be so cruel as to literally bite the hand that feeds.” He tilts his head back, and Adam gets the impression that if his arms were free, he’d be pretending to swoon. “Otherwise I’d just be stuck down here in the dark forever.”

“Nah, I’d come back, inevitably. Even if you took my fingers.” He finishes his sandwich with a few more bites and carefully dusts off his hands onto his bag. He leans back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling before looking at Doe again. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t feel much in the mood for working today.”

“I can’t imagine why.” He smirks at that, even as his voice drips with sarcasm. “After all, your own work force nearly kills you via introducing drugs to my food? If that had happened to me, I would’ve quit on the spot.”

“Ah, but quitting implies a choice.” He stays quiet for a moment too long, realizing he had probably said too much. He looks aside. “Anyways, I won’t ask any pressing questions, but we can chat for a while if you want.”

“Mm..” Doe is quiet for a moment or two, his head tilted up slightly toward the ceiling, the brim of his hat still not squishing. “Quite the lovely meal, by the by. Wonderful use of seasoning.”

“Yeah?” He grins some more, putting the slip up behind him. “I think I do breakfast the best, honestly. Still learning my ways around meats and such. I could tell you plenty about the types of cuts you want, though. I worked as a butcher before the War and all. Have you ever held a job before? Or, well, one you liked?”

The man doesn’t answer for a moment, though his grin does grow to an almost splitting degree, and he lets out a bit of a chuckle. “Oh, that’s..That’s a bit of a difficult question, darling. Or at the very least, difficult for me. Let's see though..” He tilts his head to the side a touch, his eyes seeming to wander toward the ceiling. “I suppose you could say I was once an architect. That was quite fun. Able to build things and style them to my heart’s content, watching them be brought to life and placed for all to see.”

“An architect?” Adam watches him, trying to imagine him with a hammer and set of nails on him, maybe a construction hat. Or maybe more along the lines of carpentry, or a set of drawing pads to sketch out designs. It’s hard to place the man’s soft face and top hat into such an image. “Huh. So you know how to make things, I take it? Anything in particular that you like to focus on?”

“Hmmm..” His eyes narrow a touch. “For grand-scale projects, I love to indulge in buildings. Especially the structure and floors and outdoor decorating. Love to put my own little spin on things.” He chuckles a touch. “But if you’re referring to smaller sorts...Wood carving is also something I tend to enjoy.”

“Huh.” Adam considers that. He isn’t entirely _sure_ that the facility would allow John Doe to make blueprints or design buildings, but he could throw it out there as a theoretical idea, at least to keep the man busy. “Are there any buildings still around that you helped make?”

That gets a bit more of a laugh, shoulders shaking a touch, and he shakes his head. “Hahah..Ohhh...Oh no, no no. Sadly. The types of buildings I made would never be welcomed by the common public, I’m afraid. They’d take one good look at it and go running for the hills.”

He raises a brow at that. “And why’s that? Too scary looking?”

“Oh, most definitely. My vision when it comes to buildings would be labeled as... _gothic,_ shall we say. Or at the very least, _intimidating._ I like to do this thing where I pick certain spots on buildings and have eyeballs carved in them. Makes people feel like they’re being watched.”

“Intriguing design choice.” He tries to imagine it, placing a statue’s eye onto a wall to blend into the structure just enough to be purposefully out of place. He doesn’t see it as creepy or intimidating, for whatever reason. “Do you like making people feel like they’re being watched?”

“Hehehehe. I will admit, I get a thrill out of watching people becoming uneasy. Helps point out the ones that aren’t. _Those_ are the people that I really want to get to know. They are the ones that show _promise._ And even then, I like to keep the ones that get scared as well sometimes. It’s doubly impressive if they learn to defy their fears and become someone new.”

The ounce of unease at his own comfort doubles at Doe’s words, but Adam bats it aside to go along with the conversation, picking out the odd terminology used in the sentences. He doesn’t want to think of himself showing some kind of “promise” for someone like Doe (whatever that promise means). But “keep.” That could imply serial hostage taking. Or something along those lines. “What do you mean by _become someone new?”_

“Simple, darling. Let's say you take a person, a fully grown person, and let’s say they’re afraid of spiders. You hold a tiny spider in your hand and show it to them, and they faint on the spot. Now, let’s say you did that _every single day,_ without fail.” He moves to glance at him, his eyes half-lidded, a calm gaze, a gaze that dripped with confidence, with satisfaction. “Eventually, they’d learn of the trick. Eventually, the shock and fear of the spider would wither and die. Seeing it would no longer make them faint or quiver or cry. Now, tell me...Are they still afraid of spiders?”

Adam opens his mouth, then clicks it closed. He had heard plenty of exposure therapy as a child. It never worked on him. “I... would say that they... are... still afraid.” He says it slowly, unsure of what he’s even saying. “They’ve learned to suppress the outward impulse, maybe even the visible aversion, but they could easily still be scared of the thing.”

“Mm..Perhaps. But say you move on. Say you place a spider on them. On their hand or on their arm. Say they still faint. But the cycle repeats. You take a spider and put it on their arm every day, until eventually, they no longer blink at the aspect of a spider crawling along their arm. And you just keep escalating.” His smile takes on a darker edge. “First it's one spider. Then two. Then three. Then four. Five, six, seven, and so on. How many spiders does it take before the fear is completely gone?”

He shifts a little where he sits. “I... I don’t know. Exposure therapy is proven to only cause more trauma in most cases of phobias, though I’ve heard it works in more minor cases.”

“Hmm. Perhaps. But here’s where the fun part comes in, darling.” He leans in a touch closer, affixing him with that confident gaze, those eyes glowing with light, with smugness, and a sense of sadistic whimsy that knows no bounds. “Say you take a person, and slowly shift every single aspect of their personality. Carve away every single phobia, reshape what makes them happy, and _tear_ away all the things they view as flaws about themselves.” His grin widens to the point where it looks as if the edge of his lips start to curl into a _spiral._ “Are they _really_ the same person?”

“Ah....” He shifts some more, starting to feel more uncomfortable with the conversation. He doesn’t know what to say that would come out as any kind of neutral. For some reason, he’s reminded of the military’s boot camp, fast tracked to get them all overseas, but… still boot camp. The boy he was before would never have aimed a gun at another human, much less have fired the weapon.

The man’s eyes narrow softly, and he chuckles, his grin slowly shifting back, losing it’s maniacal edge. “Remember what I said, darling? About games and pawns and how I inevitably broke free of its rules? Well, changing who you are is just one of the first of many important steps.“

Something about the conversation doesn’t feel right to him. Something about the way Doe says _you_ makes his skin crawl, makes him think he’s more openly discussing _plans_ rather than a simple philosophical query. And if _Adam_ is at the center of that plan....

He lets out a cough and quickly looks away, holding back the urge to shift and make distance between them. They’re closer than he’s comfortable with, though he had been comfortable just seconds earlier. And of course he had taken that muzzle off. Not that it’d hold back the real weapon in the room: words. Good thing he has his own. “I, um, maybe it’s best we go over ground rules. Boundaries. Best to make sure we don’t make any silly gaffs, yes? No need to be stepping on toes and all, heheh.” God, he’s never sounded worse under pressure.

That gets John to blink, and his grin falls into a look of mild shock, a pause of mild silence filling the air for a moment or two, before a soft grin of amusement slides back onto the demon’s face. It was the kind of look that almost looked too smug to be out of the compassionate kind of understanding. “Ah, of course. Always good to establish those. Pardon me, I should’ve asked sooner.”

“No, no, I should have - I’m all out of sorts today.” He fidgets a little with the paper bag in his lap, then leans his head back and takes a breath. He catches the look on John’s face in the corner of his eye and gets the distinct feeling that he lost whatever mind game was just played. “Is there anything you want to avoid talking about?” He looks him in the eyes again, ignoring any unsettling feelings he may still have. “Childhood, parents, family members? School, medical history, politics?”

“Absolutely nothing at all.” He tilts his head a touch, still smirking. “Anything _you_ do not want to discuss? I’d hate to spend all of our time merely chatting about myself, darling.”

“I...” He narrows his eyes on him, huffing as he realizes he’s trying to get him to bring up the previous conversation. Well, if he really wants it to go that way... “I don’t like talking about exposure therapy for one. I was put through it when I was young and it only made things worse.” He takes the moment to shift a few inches away. “The best way I can explain it is that I’m touch averse. I have a nasty right hook if you want to experiment with it. Plenty of others have, I can assure you. So keep from touching me unannounced and without permission and we’ll be fine. As for discussion topics?” He thinks for a moment, staring at his shoes. “Obviously, I can’t divulge certain information about my other clients for professional reasons. I like talking about my family but I’d like to keep it as generic as possible. No names, locations, ages, so on. I can’t speak on politics given my-” He waves at his uniform. “-occupation, and I’m not at liberty to discuss classified information, personal information, et cetera et cetera, of my colleagues...” He waves a hand, trying to remember the rest of the cautionary material he had picked up over the last few weeks. “No discussions of children. It’s an uncomfortable topic and I don’t like them.” Perhaps that was too blunt, but it’d work.

There was a slight pause, John’s grin fading the more Adam spoke, and after a moment of idle silence, he nods, adjusting his stance to sit cross-legged. “I see. I’ll try not to bring up that particular topic again.” There was another slight pause, dripping with tension, and it was clear that the man wanted to ask more, but was holding back. But after a moment, a grin grew back on his face, and he lets out a chuckle. “Aww, no talking about children? Not even my own daughter? I’d almost take that as an insult.”

“I, well...” He sighs, letting his grin widen a little as his eyes roll. “Fine, fine. Your daughter can be the exception.”

“Perfect. She’s my precious little angel and nothing will ever change that. Write that down in your little notebook.” He shrugs a shoulder in Adam’s direction. “Nice to know we have boundaries out of the way now. Allows me to talk freely without having to worry about stepping on eggshells.”

“Of course, of course.” He chuckles a little. _Little angel._ Odd for a demon to say, though not entirely unheard of. He leans his head against the wall behind him. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about? I have a while longer until my next appointment, but if you don’t want to talk we can always cut it short. Same applies for future talks.”

“To be perfectly honest, darling, I’d rather talk more about you. You have to understand, I’m quite the old man, and I’ve been telling the same old things about myself to all sorts of people for a long, _long_ time. It _gets...repetitive_ after a while. That’s why I’ve taken to talking to people like you, but not about me. About _themselves._ ” He smirks a touch at that. “Trust me when I say that talking about me isn’t as fascinating as you might think.” 

"But it's my job to talk about you." He smirks and laughs a little. "I don't know. There's nothing particularly interesting going on in my life."

“Mmm. Are you sure? You know, I’m fine with you venting about a few things if you need to. I may not look like it, but I’ve been told that I’m quite a good listener. Listened to plenty of people and their woes before.”

Adam chuckles at that. "No, I really shouldn't. The only thing I could complain about is my job right now."

“...Go on.” He raises a brow expectantly.

“John...” He gives him a look. “I shouldn’t. If I let something slip, it’ll be my head on the chopping block.”

His eyes seem to narrow, and the grin falls off his face entirely. His eyes slowly slide to the door of the prison cell. “..Is that so?”

He sighs a little. “As far as I know, they don’t have any listening devices, but none of them like me. On my first day, the guard who’s standing outside that door shoved me into a room even smaller than this and locked the door behind me. I’m the longest lasting interrogator in this place, with the highest rates, but...” He shrugs. “They don’t like me.”

“None of these places are able to listen to us, Adam. All they have are metal walls and magical suppressors. That’s it.” He sighs softly, before turning to glance toward him. “Let me know if anything happens. If any of these... _cretins_ bother you. Alright?”

“And you’ll do... what, precisely?” Adam raises a brow at him. “You can’t get out of here with the suppressors and all...” He gestures to the straight jacket. “This.”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, merely moving to tilt his head back to look at the ceiling. “Perhaps. But something tells me I’d be able to find a way. I’ve lasted a very long time, darling. A very long time. I have methods.”

He eyes him, but doesn’t find any hints of deception. “I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. You’re supposedly the strongest demon that’s been captured in the United Kingdom. No one even knows your name, which... would make sense if you’re older.”

“Indeed. No one knows my name because all that once knew it have died off. And I’m not exactly keen on giving it up so soon.” He moves to cross his legs again. “I’ve seen a lot of things over the years, darling. I’ve met so many people. So many faces. Some of them I loved to talk to. Some of them I found needed a little..help when it came to their fears. Others I despised and murdered without a single thought. It almost seems to be a cycle at this point.”

“If that’s the case, then why let yourself get caught?” His brows furrow. “You have to be incredibly powerful to survive so long, not only with the angels but the Hunters as well.”

“When you get to a certain point, darling, the Hunters no longer matter. They’re like paper sheets in the wind, torn open with the ease of walking through a cobweb. The angels are the real threat, and even then..what can they do if I’m down here?” He smirks a touch at that. “The government of the great British Empire using all of their resources to keep the most horrific demons in all of history alive and well, to profit off of all they have accomplished. It’s utterly despicable...as well as amusing.”

“So you just want safety?” It’s not a surprising answer, but not one he had been expecting from Doe. “Or is it more that you’re just tired of fending off the angels and want a change of scenery?” A thought pops into mind, making him pause. “What about your family?”

That gets a chuckle to fill the air, and he shakes his head, softly. “No, no. My family is completely safe, don’t you worry about them, dear. I made sure of that. No, I merely wanted to see _exactly_ where all of the worst of the worst went. Did you know they told the public that Sir Pentious is dead, for example? Said that they killed him via execution by holy blades, salvaged from the Purges.”

“No, I...” He blinks at that. “When did they say that? He’s been here for a while, from what I understand.”

“He died in 1888, and then proceeded to run around for the next 12 years before finally being hunted down and captured in 1900. Then, the very next day after his capture, on December 5th, they told the world that he was dead.” He glances toward him at that, his gaze affixed on him, a _knowing_ stare. “..Why do you think they have him making weapons for them?”

“Because he’s one of if not the most experienced man on the planet when it comes to dangerous and explosive weaponry.” Adam pulls his legs up, holding them loosely. “It’s in his background. Different companies claim they produced the blueprints because the knowledge that a mass murderer is given shelter for it would result in riots.”

“Exactly. Capture these insanely powerful and well-known demons, convince the public that they’re killed, and slowly and surely continue to use their skills and knowledge for profit and supremacy, all the while using the caveat that these prisons are the only places that are ever truly safe from the Angels. Positively _wicked,_ wouldn’t you say?” His grin grows to expose his teeth at that.

“It’s definitely dancing on either side of the coin.” He leans his head against the wall tiredly. “Demons are evil, so don’t trust them. But we’ll use them to build our economy, military, and capitalism anyways. I’m well aware of the hypocrisy.”

“Something tells me you’re not exactly a fan of such hypocrisy.” His eyes narrow a touch. “In fact, you seem to despise it quite a bit.”

“Anyone who despises hypocrisy is themselves a hypocrite.” Adam smirks at him. “Which is to say that everyone is.”

“Heh. Clever wordplay.” He chuckles himself, tilting his head, arms shifting beneath his jacket. “Tell me, darling. What _do_ you think about demons? Feel free to use as much crude language as you need to. I’m not the type to easily be offended.”

“Hmm....” He thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. “It’s hard to tell when the only ones you hear about are a percent of a percent. And even then, the supposed worst of the worst are entirely capable of producing minimum damage if they want to. So in quite a few ways, you’re not much different than humans, from what I know having met a few of you. Capable of great harm, great good, and great restraint for both.”

“Really now? Not so scared of magic, then? Or the fact that demons become inhuman monsters upon death?” He raises a brow, looking surprised (albeit pleasantly so).

Adam laughs at him. “You’re talking to a Creole man, John. I was born with magic and judged on my looks. Appearances mean nothing.”

“Ah, I see, I see. How interesting. Not to mention a relief.” He rolls his eyes at himself. “And here I was thinking that I’d have to go and give myself a nose to keep you from being afraid.”

“What made you think such a silly thing? My walking over here, the sandwich, or how tired I’ve been getting while sitting here?”

“Oh, don’t think I didn’t notice the first time you saw me, darling. You were practically sweating bullets.” He narrows his eyes at him, a playful smirk on his lips. “How was I to know you’d later give me half of your breakfast?”

“Well, the first meeting is always terrifying, but more because I don’t know what to expect, or how you were treated before.” Adam leans his head back, feeling more tired with the motion. “Like I said before, they tend to-”

The grate of the door slides open with a metal chink and Greg’s eyes peer into the room. “Adam, you’re-” He pauses for a moment. “You’re needed on floor six. Urgently. And make sure his muzzle is on, for Christ’s sake.”

“Ah. Right.” Adam glances between them, then at the muzzle near John’s legs.

Lucifer seems to glance at the muzzle laying on the ground before he lets out an idle sigh, rolling his eyes. “And God just comes around to ruin my day once more.” He shifts a touch, sitting up a bit straighter up, holding his jaw up, prepped for the muzzle to be re-attached. “Come on, darling, best to not keep the poor suckers getting their throats ripped out waiting.”

He relaxes a touch and picks up the muzzle. “I’ll try and put a good word in with my bosses. Hopefully it’ll be enough to get some of these restraints off.” He sets it over his jaw and buckles the straps. “Not too tight?”

“Just _peachy.”_ His voice comes out slightly muffled, his expression remarkably unenthused.

Adam sighs lightly. “Don’t worry. I’m sure that we’ll be drinking booze and liquor in no time.” He gives him a wide grin. “These things usually go quickly around here.”

“Time, Walker. No more chatting.” Greg knocks on the door.

“Just a moment.” He rolls his eyes and collects his suitcase, hurrying across the room. He turns back around to look at John again. “I’ll see if I can squeeze in more time later today, but if not, thank you for your time and-”

The door opens behind him and a hand catches his collar, yanking him out into the hall. “What in the hell was that, Walker?”

Adam stumbles slightly, hearing the door slam behind him. “Just closing up the discussion.”

“Not that, the fucking _muzzle!”_ Greg gives him a stern glare before finally dropping his shirt collar, starting to match back down the hallway. “That’s _twice_ I’ve caught you taking it off! And don’t think I didn’t see the food bag in there. What the fuck are you doing, breaking protocol like that?”

Adam squints at him, quickly following after him. “What am I supposed to do? He has no reason to trust anyone here, much less people who are trying to _poison his food.”_ He waves a hand as he searches for more to say. “And it got him talking! Yesterday, he was glowering and defensive, and now he’s actually talking.”

“We’re talking about a demon that can murder five people without even blinking and you want to fucking take off his _muzzle?_ Do you have _any_ fucking idea what he could do to someone if you forget to fucking put it back on him?”

“If he _could_ do something like what he did in the reports, he’d need magic to do it.” He pulls his suitcase up and shakes it, letting the clipboard and papers inside clatter around. “The muzzle comes off when he needs to eat anyways, which is also the time he uses the restroom. Outside of that crew, it’s only me interacting with him.”

“Yeah, and he could easily bite your fucking arm off.” He turns his head to glare at him. “This isn’t like Brooks and Montgomery, ok? They like you. This...thing, whatever the fuck he is, doesn’t know you, and if anything, he’s probably messing with your damn mind to get you to lower your guard at the worst moment possible. You know nothing about him. You don’t even know his fucking name. Acting all wishy-washy is just gonna get you killed.”

“Wishy-washy?” He squints at him as they approach the elevator and call their ride. “Greg. It is Greg, right? My job right now is _not_ to worry about my own safety, but to provide information to both of our superiors. I’m not _being_ wishy-washy. I’m taking my job seriously, even if people can’t see that.”

“Can’t get information if you’re fucking dead.” He crosses his arms, turning toward him now, giving Adam a bit of a glare. “You may be good at this, but I think you’re getting a bit too big for your fucking britches, especially with Doe. We dunno jackshit about who he is, what he wants, or anything. What makes you think you can just be so casual about this?”

“Because-” Adam rolls his jaw and looks aside, remembering the odd conversation about spiders. “Because I _know_ a sadist when I see one.” He looks him in the eye. “He thinks this is all a game. He wants something _fun_ out of this, and _I_ am that source of fun, understand? I _have_ to be more brazen with him or else he’ll find ways to make me and this facility more ‘fun-’” He brings his hands up for air quotes. “-in more gruesome ways. So if I start putting up all these walls with him, if I start treating him like how you and others treat him - the game gets boring for him. _That_ is when he goes to bite my throat. Not before. That’d spoil the whole thing for him.”

There was silence for a few moments, before Greg let’s a hand drag down his face. “So, you say you’re basically playing chicken with a psychotic demon just so he doesn’t try and kill you. By placing yourself in positions where he can easily kill you.”

“I...” He slowly starts nodding. “When you put it that way, it sounds rather counterintuitive, but yes.”

“..If you die, it’s your own fucking fault then. Don’t say I didn’t try and warn you.” He turns around to pull the elevator doors open, and he steps his way in.

“Precisely.” Adam sighs, rubbing the back of his neck and stepping in with him. “Now, who is that’s causing trouble this time?”

•••

Rosie slowly steps back a touch to look over the dress with a scrutinizing gaze, looking over the fabric for a moment. It was one of her more ambitious works, and she wanted it to be a good seller. It was styled to be a black fabric corset (with golden buttons instead of strings that can crush ribs because she’s not an _animal)_ with long white sleeves and a long flowing gown that happened to keep the frills and the overall prudish shape that so many of today’s society called for but had quite the surprise that no one would expect. It was enough to make her grin grow and she took a moment to chortle to herself, eyes narrowing with mischievous delight. “Let’s see how those fiends react when they see not just the ankle, _but the whole leg.”_

She spends another minute just giggling to herself. It's gorgeous! And quite the middle finger to her dear colleagues on the surface. If they wanted her work, they'd get her work. Nothing less and nothing more. Well, maybe less fabric, if she so desires.

There's a knock behind her. "Stand back from the door, Miss. You've got a visitor."

As she turns, the door opens, and a rather bemused, tired looking Adam is framed in the opening. He walks inside, toting his suitcase with him, and grins heartily at her. He looks… well, he doesn’t look _great,_ but considering he had been in the hospital for over a day for reasons no one would speak of, he looks unreasonably healthy. Tired, surely, but he stands straight, impeccable as always. He’s wearing his uniform, which isn’t necessarily a good sign. He’s mentioned how much he hates the thing (practically jumped at the opportunity as soon as she mentioned its poor taste in fashion) but he still wears it for the occasional formal event or communication with higher ups.

He sets his suitcase down by his side and starts saying something, but she’s already halfway across the room to him, hovering just outside his personal space with a worried look on her face. He straightens, grinning sheepishly as he recognizes what the look is for. “I’m perfectly fine, Rosie. I promise.”

“Says the man who looks like he’s about to pass out.” She crosses her arms, looking him over head to toe. “You should know I’m the fussing type.”

“There’s no need to fuss.” He holds his hands up placatingly. “I was in the hospital for a day. Nothing el-”

“In the hospital for what?” Her brows raise, and it’s clear she isn’t going to let the matter drop.

Adam exhales, lowering his hands. “I overdosed on mashed potatoes and steak.”

“You ate his food,” Rosie translates, her tone and expression making it clear how foolish she thinks him.

“I was trying to gain his trust,” he says quickly, almost frustrated. “I knew the risks, but I’m not about to let anyone in my care be drugged because some people are - are scared of them.”

She softens a touch as she hears the stress in his voice. She holds her hands out. “May I?”

It takes him a small moment to realize what she means, but it deflates whatever annoyance had started to grow in him. He nods and she hugs him. He awkwardly wraps his arms around her back. “Sorry. They called in a Colonel from the US army to deal with me. Apparently everyone went up into a fuss as soon as they heard what happened.”

“Well, no matter what that Colonel says or has in mind for you, there’s nothing they can do to stop you from doing your job and doing it properly.” Rosie pulls back, holding his shoulders, and then leads him toward the table. “C’mon. Let’s get you seated and then we can talk some more.” She nudges him into his usual seat and then rounds the table to her own seat. “Did he say anything about repercussions?”

“Vaguely. Mostly just that they won’t allow for another misstep.” He rolls his eyes and leans on the table. “I got quite a few words in, and it’s hard to argue with empirical data, so...” He shrugs. “They’ll calm down shortly enough, I imagine. The Captain is merely here to make sure things don’t get worse too quickly. There’s a lot of worry surrounding the new prisoner.”

“I never would have noticed.” She smirks at him, chuckling lightly. “He’s the strongest I’ve felt in a long time, Adam. And, like all of us, he’s a demon. I wouldn’t be surprised if they think he’s managed to tempt you with an apple already.”

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, smiling a bit more in return. “He hasn’t, I swear. If no one else in this place could manage it, I’m certain he can’t either.” He goes quiet for a moment, looking aside. “He’s old, though. Certainly older than Pentious. I can tell he’s been around for a long time.”

Rosie raises a brow at him, recognizing the look from some of his first weeks. He looks tired, lost in thought, like he’s ignoring her, but he’s really just thinking. Trying to piece the puzzle together. Trying to make sense of what doesn’t add up. It’s the second day he’s had with this new demon and he already thinks he has something worth picking apart. Either he’s a good talker (which he is) or John Doe knows exactly how much information to parse out. “Usually the stronger ones are older.”

He opens his mouth to say something, then shakes his head instead. “We can talk about him later if you want. I’m trying to make this a bit of an easier day, for obvious reasons, so I mostly want to go over some changes to our schedule.” He glances over at his suitcase, then shrugs and decides it’s a lost cause. “Your times are still going to be a bit weird since you’re in the morning and early afternoon, but I’ll be here earlier for morning meetings with John Doe. He said he’s a morning person, so for most of the week I’ll be with him from nine until noon. I’ll usually be with you from noon until four, except for Mondays, when I’ll still have you from eleven to two. And Thursday and Friday we’ll wrap up closer to three, just so I have a bit more time for some of my topside clients. So nothing much will be changing on your end.”

“Huh.” That must be why he’s so tired looking. He pressed himself to make it here early to get the schedule started before the weekend. “Can I ask if Pentious’ time is changing at all?”

“I’ve pushed him back to six through nine, but I think he’ll more than likely enjoy that a bit more than his usual schedule.” He grins at that.

“You’re starting your day almost four hours earlier than usual, Adam. And adding an extra hour to the end.” Rosie knits her brows together. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much of a workload?”

He blinks, as if he hadn’t even considered it, then chuckles lightly. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, Rosie. I usually get here early anyways, and I stay later to wrap up entries. I’m not going to be staying so long for today, and likely not tomorrow either.”

“Hm.” She isn’t entirely sure about that, but she doubts she can press him any further on it. “Well, if you’re so certain about that, then I’ll just have to remind you that I’m entirely open to having more relaxing chats with you. If you need some time to lay down in bed, you’re free to stop by.”

“A kind offer, but I really shouldn’t.” Adam can’t help but consider the offer apropos of his time with Doe. Greg had gotten worried after he had spent overtime in the cell. “I think everyone’s a bit more worried and watchful now that I’ve given them all a scare.”

“You don’t have to come when you’re scheduled for anyone else, but if we finish up early, feel free to stay a while longer.” She grins at him and stands, moving over to her mannequin. “Anyways, I’ve been working on this. Isn’t she a beauty?”

He seems to notice the dress for the first time, taking in the corset and flowing gown. “Oh, wow. It’s beautiful! You made that in just a few days?” He straightens a little and leans forward in his seat.

She beams, pleased with the comment. “Yes! And it has just the right amount of shock factor to it.” She waits as if expecting a reaction.

Adam shifts, looking the dress over again. It’s beautiful, and definitely a new design of Rosie’s, but it isn’t particularly _shocking._ Not to him at least. His grin turns sheepish again, not wanting to offend her. “Shock factor?”

“ _Yes!_ ” She claps her hands, seeming to get the desired response, and points to the leg. “It’s very difficult to see when standing still or sitting, but as soon as the wearer starts walking-” She moves the fabric, exposing a slit that goes from hip to toe. “The _entire leg_ is shown. Now _that_ is one properly made dress!”

“Oh!” He flushes ever so slightly at the idea, though he laughs a little and it vanishes. “Oh, I see what you’re doing. This is payback for those other businessmen thinking you’re too risque, isn’t it?”

She crosses her arms, smirking at him and raising her jaw. “They’re going to be taking my dress lines whether they like it or not. Or else I’ll give them nothing. In fact!” She points her finger up sharply. “I’ll only make lingerie. Tell them _that_ and see how _they_ like it.”

“Oh my.” The flush comes back, but he can’t help but laugh even more at Rosie’s antics. “ _Please_ don’t make me have to say that on a call with them.”

“You could send it via mail.” She smirks and wanders back over to the table, sitting down in front of him. “I think they’d understand quite easily. _Ooh,_ you could tell them that the lingerie line is titled _Rosie’s Secret._ They can figure out the specifics on their own.” She leans back in her seat.

“Ugh.” He splays a hand over his face, still chuckling. “One of these days, you _will_ be the death of me. I swear.”

“Oh, you have higher contenders for that position, deary.” She smiles pleasantly, fishing a lipstick out of a bag on the table and running it over her lips. Adam merely rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat, exhaling and accepting the next few hours of comradic barbing.

•••

Sir Pentious, the leading inventor of the world who lives quite a ways down beneath the surface of the Earth, is one of the few demons with a _second_ living space. At some point in his negotiations, long before Adam had ever come around, he had talked the management into letting him not only draft blueprints, but to _make_ the inventions himself. The way it had first been explained to Adam was that Pentious had found the notion of someone else being the first to build his machines all too distasteful, and had managed to devise the sometimes troublesome process of balancing prison security with potential explosives. It still didn’t make complete sense to Adam that he was still allowed near saltpetre and the like, but the rule on Pentious making one segment of a weapon, such as the barrel of a gun, before moving onto the next, such as the chamber, made complete sense to him.

But no amount of logic makes him enjoy the wait he has to take while Pentious is at task welding something. The specific room for welding, which is separate from the chem lab and smithing room and assembly and all the other places Adam couldn’t keep straight, is the only room Pentious is allowed into without guards. The dangers of becoming blind were one thing, but even with goggles, the threat of sparks and a torch held by _the_ infamous supervillain of time left most guards wary. And now is one of those times, where Pentious is in that very room and Adam is waiting outside the door with a whole cluster of guardsmen who are all too bored and boring and all but ready to quit their jobs. Cigarettes and coffee alike are banned by Pentious’s decree, leaving them all the more annoyed and restless.

There were occasionally a few soft coughs and shuffling around from the guards, some of them keeping their arms folded, while others were carrying what looked to be rifles in their hands, though with the way they were holding them, it was clear they weren’t expecting to actually use them. Occasionally, from beyond the heavy doors, there was the bright, bright flash of flames from what little amount of glass were allowed, accompanied by the screeching sounds of sparks glinting off of metal, implying that Pentious was currently hard at work, and while it wasn’t precisely clear as to what, it no doubt was something that was shaping up to be bigger than a simple shotgun or sniper rifle. Greg himself was standing next to Alastor’s side, and he was shuffling from side to side, his eyes squinting heavily every time that bright light flared up within the doorway, before his head moves to swivel around the room. “...Doesn’t it ever kinda creep you out how we’re letting this man make _weapons?_ In pieces, granted, but...still weapons.”

“Hm?” Adam blinks, having zoned out for a moment, and then realizes what Greg is asking him. He feels a few eyes from the other guards drift over to them. “Well, better to have him on our side than his own, I suppose. History knows it’d be worse with him on the loose.” A safe answer, but still one he believes. He shifts a little where he’s standing, feeling a bit of an ache as he glances at all the workbenches in the room, yet not a single chair in sight. Another quirk of Pentious’s: he doesn’t need chairs himself, and they only clutter his workspaces, so no one sits. Each workbench holds some strange equipment or crafted piece for Pentious’s current project. Usually this would be the room where his assigned part would be assembled, but in larger pieces, where welding is acquired, the assembly room is all but surface area for the larger pieces.

Adam lets his gaze wander to the opposite side of the room, where less people are. It’s a straight shot to the main hallway and elevator. They’d merely have to go through the smithery and then the chem lab, both of which had offshoots to other rooms Adam had never been allowed into. He knows each of them have a supply closet, though he doubts they’re as small as “closet” implies.

“Yeah, I suppose...Still kinda makes me a bit on edge. He’s got access to all this equipment after all..” Greg himself still looked a touch more unsure, but he seemed to stop in his shifting. 

Another guard, one of the ones holding guns, merely shakes his head, seeming to let out a huff, and though his uniform covers up most of his body, he sports a stubble of a beard and has a mild scar lining the side of his cheek, stretching toward his jaw. “Think it’s pretty damn clear the supervisors don’t really give a shit about what the mad bastard’s done. At least, they don’t care about all the deaths he’s caused. They just care about the weapons.”

Greg moves to give the man who spoke a bit of a glance. “You really think that’s true, Tom? If all they cared about was the weapons, why would they lock him up instead of just offering him some cushy job someplace?”

Tom offers up a mild shrug. “Well, people think he’s dead, for one. And he’d probably never agree to make weapons for anyone if he wasn’t under lock and key.”

“It’d be a political nightmare, that’s for sure.” Adam recalls some of his conversation with John Doe, then turns back to the group as silence fills the room. “I may have been born after he was killed, but there’s plenty of people still alive from when he was shelling cities. The American public alone would be in uproar.”

“Right.” Tom looks him over, spying the rare but well-kept military uniform he’s wearing. “And here you are, rubbing elbows with the man who annexed portions of your country.”

“Well...” He shrugs instinctively. “At least he never got close to the President.”

The man’s eye twitches. “You little...”

“Calm down, Tom, best not blow your head off again.” The man next to Tom, not holding a gun, gives him a soft nudge with his elbow, looking to be a bit grayer in the hair, a thick mustache on his lip, his accent quite thick, leaning more toward Scottish. “Just be glad none of those weapons are being pointed towards _us._ Can you imagine the bloody massacre that would’ve erupted had Pentious landed in the hands of the Germans?”

“That _man_ has already caused more massacres than the entirety of this damn war, Harris.”

“He has, that he has. But are you really gonna go up to the bosses and demand that they throw away the main source of Britain’s supremacy in this whole disaster?”

“I do wonder where we’d be technologically if Pentious stayed dead.” Adam tips his head back. “I looked into his file some more and there are _quite_ the number of inventions I hadn’t expected under his name.”

“Would those inventions even be worth it if it meant we keep that _madman_ alive, though?”

The scraping and flaring lights from the other side of the door suddenly stops. “Thisssss _madman_ can _hear you,_ thank you very much! And pleasssse, if you’re going to insult me, at least use a more _fitting_ title!“

The hissing and sputtering of sparks and metal continues, and Adam looks back to Harris. “He’s got a point. Full bill of health, apart from a bit of narcissism. And even that is questionable depending on who you ask.” He grins widely at them. 

Harris himself seems to let out a wheezing chuckle, eyes crinkled up with mirth while Tom’s eye twitches, but he refrains from saying anything more. At least one more minute of relative silence goes by before the flames from within the room seem to shut off. “Alright, tell your blood-sucking _parassssites_ you call your leaders that I’ve completed my quota for the day.”

Tom’s grip tightens on his gun a touch. “The quota said to complete a full artillery cannon.”

“Yessss, and the outer shell _of_ the canon has been completed. I shall finish it off tomorrow. But for now, I’m quite hungry and I undersssstand that a certain _man_ is _currently_ waiting to see me. I’m taking a break, and I’m taking it _now.”_

“Sounds fair enough to me.” Adam claps his hands together and rubs them before bending down to pick up his suitcase. “Do you need anything prepared out here, Pentious? A towel or anything?”

“A towel, yessss.” This time, they could hear the grin in his voice. “And a cup of coffee.”

Several of the guards grumble and Tom’s eye all but twitches again. “That smug son of a...”

“When the man calls the shots...” Adam chuckles to himself, walking across the room and counting the cabinets along the wall for the right one. He sets his suitcase down and stretches to snag two towels.

Greg follows him just a few paces away as the others go about moving their posts around the room, two moving over to the door to open it for Pentious. “Don’t tell me you’re actually going to make him his coffee.”

Adam smirks at him. “Of course I am. That’s how it works when you’re _inside_ the room instead of staring at the elevator and cement halls all day.”

The sounds of the welding door slowly opening is filled with creaks and groans, and as it does, there are several cockings of the guns that the guards are holding, as if strictly reminding Pentious that they are, in fact, loaded. Pentious himself, slowly slid forth from the now dimly lit welding room, no longer wearing his fancy, prim and proper suit, instead merely opting for a single bright white button up shirt, complete with several puffy Victorian-esque frills lining the chest and sleeves, the fabric left stained with patches of soot and splotches of oil. He wore a brown leather work smock over the top of that shirt, similarly stained, with several pockets and loops meant to hold various tools, as well as sporting a long pair of thick, black rubber gloves, covering up his talons, reaching from his hands to his elbows, his hair appearing to be firmly tied down with several elastic bands, while a thick pair of safety goggles were currently pushed up to rest on top of his head. He holds up his arms in a show of submission as the two guards that held the door open slowly circle him, occasionally reaching out to pat along the pockets of the smock, quickly checking to see if he had smuggled anything from the room, to which Pentious merely narrows his eyes, his tongue slithering out to wiggle with distaste, saying nothing.

Adam walks up to him as the two finish their inspection, finding nothing, as always. “Artillery today? Finished the rifle parts while I was out?”

Greg follows again, and clears his throat as Adam gets too close to Pentious.

Adam waves back at him without paying him any mind. “And this is Greg. He’s the one that’s usually on the other side of the door.”

“Ah, I ssssee. The one that tends to push and shove you around all day.” Pentious lowers his arms as the two guards slowly step back, letting his gaze turn to Adam once again, tongue flicking out once more. “And yesss, the rifle componentssss were sent out yesterday. When you weren’t _here,_ apparently.” His tail gives a soft flick, eyes narrowing.

His grin becomes a touch more nervous. “Yes, I, er, was in the hospital. Nothing serious, I promise! Merely...” He searches to find a way to somehow blunt reality.

“He overdosed on John Doe’s food,” Greg says plainly.

Adam closes his eyes for a moment, then exhales and holds up the towels for Pentious. “You have smudges on your face, by the way.”

“Hmmm.” He moves to take the towels, lifting one up to begin wiping over the expanse of his face, dabbing at his forehead first before slowly letting the fabric slide along his cheeks, his chin, jawline, and so on. His eyes wandered as he does so, but it’s clear that he’s still addressing Adam as he speaks, tone left slightly miffed. “This _John Doe_ is certainly shaping up to be quite the _thorn_ in your side, isn’t he?”

“I’ve had one day with him. Hardly enough time to make a solid conclusion.” He chuckles at that and walks off toward the little coffee station near the cupboards. “And _he_ hasn’t done anything to me yet. Not even so much as a little bite, which is more than some can say.”

“Hmmm. Still, this _has_ been the firssssst time you’ve been _hospitalized,_ Adam. Drugged food or no, the man has broken your ssssqueaky clean record of six months the firsssst day he’s arrived.” Pentious moves to follow, having finished wiping down his face, draping the towels over one of his arms.

“Again, I don’t blame him for it.” Adam glances at him as he comes closer, grabbing the container of coffee grounds and tapping a few spoonfuls into a glass set into an odd contraption. “He’s the first person I’m working with who is new here and the institution apparently decides to drug his food without telling me. _And_ they bring him in ahead of schedule, ruining all my plans for the day and leaving me making up my scripts.”

“Mmm. Perhapssss.” Pentious moves to stand beside him now, starting to slowly pull off the rubber gloves to let them flop down against the counter, as well as removing his goggles, placing them down as well. His tongue flicks out ever so slightly, and he seems to pause for a moment, but then seems to dismiss it in the same breath. “You’re free to make your own cup if you wish.”

Adam blinks at him, then smirks a little. “Really? The strict and hardened Sir Pentious is allowing me a cup of joe in his workshop? Scandalous.” He chuckles and grabs another mug, secretly glad for another opportunity to spike his energy, if only for a little. “How was yesterday? Hopefully not all too boring.”

“Mm. Not too boring. Chatted with Rosie in the garden. Listened to some news on the radio. Read a few chapters of a book. About as boring as the rest of my afterlife has been ever since I got stuck down here.” He lifts his arms back to begin untying his hair from the restraints he’s placed them in.

“Oh, they let you in the garden? Makes sense, makes sense.” He picks up a water pitcher and fills up another glass on the contraption in front of him, then picks up a striker and sparks a small flame under the glass. A few of the guards grumble at the sight, but Greg merely watches with a bemused expression from a safe distance. “Rosie didn’t mention anything about it, but she was rather preoccupied on other things. Anything interesting on the radio?”

“Hmm. More mentionsssss of _Aaron Burke,_ for starters..” His hood seems to bristle and quiver even within the bonds that hold it tight, and as he pulls the last tie away from his hair, it almost seems to delicately fall into a perfect wave, seconds before it unfolds and open up ever so slightly to expose the yellow within it, Pentious all but combing through it with his claws, idly. “Sssstill under house arrest as far as I know. Sssurprised no one has tried poisoning his tea yet.”

Adam raises a brow, watching him as his hood snaps open, intrigued by the way the eyes seem to peer at him on one side while the others disappear as his fingers comb through them. “Well, it is just the first week. I’m sure your divine retribution will come about somehow.” He crosses his arms. “That is rather gutsy, though. First week of being pardoned and he makes a whole spectacle of it.”

“Perhapsssss he fears that I’ll somehow find a way to bring about his death, and he wants to assure he gains as many good deeds as possible to insure he can _ssssswindle_ his way into Heaven.” His lips curl into a sneer, exposing his teeth, and his tail lashes. “Jusssst like him, wanting to trip over himself to change every asssspect about himself that he can, _just_ to get away from me.”

“I doubt it’s possible, if any model of Heaven and Hell is to be trusted.” He glances at the coffee machine as the water starts boiling and sputtering into the glass with the coffee grinds. “And if that’s really what he’s trying to do, then, well. My mother always said that indicators of a guilty conscience tell a lot about a person.”

 _“Feh.”_ His tail flicks a bit harder and some of the guards visibly go a touch stiffer. Pentious’s eyes narrow ever so slightly toward Adam, but he makes no moves toward him. “I’ve sssseen that man all but happily guzzle down drinks around a bar while the bodies we had left buried in a ditch had yet to grow cold. He shot men, he shot women, ssssame as the rest of the people I lead and commanded, ssssslew Pinkertons and criminalssss and mob gangssss that were going after our heads. People call me a monssster, but they forget that man had as much blood on his hands as me.”

"Which means he has good cause to feel guilty - because he is. Which means if he's doing all this to escape you because he's scared, rather than actually atoning, he'll still end up on the Hell side of the equation." He shrugs. "If you believe there's any order to it, anyways. I prefer to view it as a rather mess, cosmological game of chance." He lets himself grin widely again.

Pentious stares toward Adam for a moment before his scowl and narrowed eyes immediately begin to grow into a sadistic grin, exposing all of those hideously sharp fangs, and his shoulders quiver, starting to chuckle. “Ohohoho...Ohh, if that were so, then what a _fortuitous_ turn of events it would be.”

"Oh, certainly. But fortuitous for who?" Adam tilts his head, matching him grin for grin as the water finishes sputtering as background noise. It clicks and starts draining the water into the other glass.

“For _me,_ of courssssse.” His eyes narrow ever so slightly. “After all, if Aaron were to attempt to flee from my clutchessss via getting into Heaven upon death, his actionssss tainted by his own cowardice, his own _bloodshed...._ Well...” Pentious leans in a touch closer, pupils thinning into slits. _“Where doessss that leave him?”_

"Either in Hell, or on Earth." Adam takes note of the thrill in his eyes, doing his best not to react at how close Pentious is getting to him.

“Heheh... _Exactly.”_ Pentious leans back, though his eyes glance back toward the guards, some of them having slowly moved their guns in his direction upon seeing him lean in closer. He gives them a soft scoff, tail flicking, arms crossing ever so slightly. “Oh, point thossssse pea-shooters in some other direction.“

“Oh, they’re just worried by the sudden realization that I am, indeed, a mortal soul.” Adam chuckles and waves a hand at them, turning as a soft click shuts off the flame heating the coffee. He brings the mugs to a valve and fills them up. “Apparently management _does_ want me alive after all.”

“Walker, you’re not even supposed to be so close to any of the subjects.” Greg crosses his arms, standing a safe distance from either of them.

“And?” Alastor holds out one of the mugs to Pentious, sipping from the other. “If it’s getting on your nerves so much, you can contact my superior, Colonel Knight. He’ll be here for at least a few days, apparently.”

Pentious takes the provided mug, moving to sip from it, his previous sadism all but vanished, as if it were never there to begin with, his own eyes, every single one, all shifting to face the guards, some flicking in other directions while some follow the same paths, his back leaning against the counter. He speaks once more, not glancing toward Adam this time. “Colonel Knight...From the American military, I take it?”

“Yes. Apparently none of the Brits are all too happy about my little stunt, so they pulled some strings to bring him here.” Adam glances at the other guards, watching them begrudgingly lower their weapons. “He’s not going to do anything though. There isn’t much to do, is what I got from him.”

“Hmm...Knight...Issss that his first or last name? I’m assuming last.” A small grin begins to grow on Pentious’s face, devious, sharp.

“Last name, yes. Maybe thirty years old or so.” Adam, takes another sip from his mug.

“Heheheh...I do recall running into a man by the name of Knight, when I ssssstaged a coup of New York.” Pentious’s grin only continues to grow. “Patrick Knight, I believe. Very brave man, very much a believer in the great American law, with his little army of soldiers.” He chuckles a touch, tail flicking back and forth. “Until I sssssent his _cohorts_ running away scared and they left him to die.”

There are a few grimaces from around the room. Adam merely blinks at him. It isn’t entirely often that Pentious talks about his killings so openly. Well, not so specifically at least. “Do you think they’re related? I don’t know the Colonel all that well, but I’ve heard a few whispers that he’s from a military family.”

“Wouldn’t be sssssurprised if they were. A father, perhapssss even a grandfather.” He chuckles softly, again, tail flicking as he takes another sip of his coffee. “It would be _quite_ the fun coincidence, would it not? That a man who’s father or grandfather was killed is now dwelling in the prison of the killer.”

“Definitely an odd happenstance of fate.” Adam tilts his head, considering it. Maybe he should ask the Colonel about it, at the very least to see where the man is coming from. “Well, somewhat related, I may have to change our times a bit, Pentious. How do you feel about starting an hour later but going an hour longer?”

Pentious’s grin drops from his face for a moment, blinking, and his brow furrows a little. “..Change the timesssss? Why?”

“Because John Doe is being added to my schedule, and he’s a priority like you and Rosie.” He shrugs again. “My time with him is earlier in the day, before Rosie, and her time is being pushed back as well.”

“Hmmph. This man is turning out to be quite the pain in the neck.” He sips a bit more loudly at his coffee, before he merely sighs, his tail twitching. “Very well, very well. An hour later it issss.”

“Good.” Adam nods, all but beaming at him. “I was hoping it’d work out since you’re such a night owl already. Thank you for being flexible with me.”

Pentious seems to stare at him for a moment before he sighs and sips at his coffee again, tail idly flicking back and forth, much like a cat lazily staring out a closed window. “Be thankful that I’m ssssso lenient when it comes to these kinds of things.”

“Of course!” He chuckles softly, scuffing his shoes on the ground and shifting where he stands. “I don’t particularly have anything else planned to discuss aside from going over your schedule on, um, inventions and the like. The previous project has been shipped out, and you’re working on the artillery now?”

“Indeed. They ordered a mounted canon that could be sssstaged up out of the ground and used to shoot across the landssscape from the safety of trenches. Jusssst in case there’s the possibility of the war breaking out again, they told me.” He seems to scoff a touch, not even bothering to glance at the guards. “If you assssk me, Britain is just looking to use me to fatten up their resources again. Build up their ssssupplies of guns and firepower so they reign sssupreme by the time a second conflict arrives.”

“Not entirely surprising. Wars are good cover for them to do that.” He thinks for a moment. “Can I see the blueprints? I might be able to offer some pointers with some of my own experience.”

“Hmm...” His tongue flicks out for a moment or two, His eyes glancing toward Greg and the other guards, before he moves to slither over toward the door to the welding room again, where a thin metal mailbox was sitting just outside of it. He briefly opens said mailbox to pull out a file, glancing at it for a moment before turning to slither back towards the counter, holding it outward. “Here.”

Adam blinks and sets his mug down, taking the file and flipping it open. It’s complicated and detailed, like everything Pentious makes, but it makes sense to him. He blinks again and looks closer. “It... you’re making it so it can turn in a full circle? Even though it’s stationary, which... Huh.” He smirks a bit. “Definitely would have helped if the canons were that smooth. Easier to aim and all. Any idea on the range? Mounting something like this is pretty risky.”

“Ideally, it _should_ be able to fire at leasssst twice as far as standard shells, both backwards as well as forwards. As for the radius of the explosions, it _should_ also allow for the shellsss themselves to collide with the ground harder, _faster,_ which, in theory, createsss _stronger_ impacts when the shell erupts.”

“Oh, dear.” He flinches slightly at the thought, considering the shells he had scarcely dodged in the past. If they were faster, and the window of hearing the shot and impact were less.... “Yes, that’ll definitely kill more people.”

“Heheheh. Glad you think so.” That earns a more wicked from Pentious, as well as a soft chuckle. “That’s the plan, after all.”

Adam lets out a small laugh in return, shaking his head a bit. “And how far are you? Any idea on how long it should take?”

“Well...” He glances toward the welding door, eyes narrowed ever so slightly, resting his palm in a hand, trilling his claws on his chin. “Ssseeing as I have the outer shell finished, and I’ll need to work out building the mechanismsssss next.... I’d say, perhaps… 4 to 5 days?”

“About the usual then. Interesting.” He nods, looking over the blueprint again before folding it up and holding it out to him. “Is there anything you may need for this that you don’t have or are running low on?”

“Asssside from that _wine_ you still haven’t gotten me yet?” His tongue flickers out as if that was more of a snooty gesture in his part, turning to return the file to it’s proper place. “No, nothing mechanical that I’ll need. The sssssuppliers keep everything in this place topped off so production doesn’t grind to a halt.”

“I, er-” Adam relaxes as he sees his tongue flicker out, rolling his eyes good-naturedly as he realizes Pentious is more or less teasing him, and follows him this time toward the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to bring some tomorrow.”

“You better! I want to be good and ready to have some on hand the moment I hear word of Burke getting a lead bullet through the skull. Or the lungs. Or the stomach.” His eyes narrow a touch, and he seems to ponder something for a moment as he slips the file back into the box, mumbling to himself. “Hmmm...Was I shot in the lung? I definitely recall sssspitting up blood once, but I can’t recall if that was before or after I got kicked in the ribs..” He turns toward the guards at that. “Sssstomach or lungs, which place would provide the most painful death? Come on, you’re all in the military, I doubt none of you haven’t killed sssomeone. Fessss up.”

“I, uh...” Harris shifts, unnerved by the question. “I guess the... lungs would... kill you faster?”

Tom elbows him. “Come on, don’t play his messed up games.”

“Well, he _asked.”_

Adam glances between them as they start to bicker, then at Pentious. “I believe you were shot in the stomach, Sir. Damage to the lungs and stomach can both cause blood in the mouth. Though, Harris is right. A stomach injury would be more lasting, though I suppose it could cause sepsis as well...” He trails off, trying to puzzle out the query in his mind.

“Heheheh. Then I hope I have wine ready for when Burke gets a bullet in the stomach, then. The head would be too quick. Trust me, I would know.” He flashes a pleased grin, one of vicious sadism, and his hood notably flares up a touch. His grin then falls immediately after, as does his hood, and one of his hands presses to his torso, slightly off to his right side, his eyes flicking to Adam. “...Y...You don’t think I still have the bullet _in me,_ do you?”

“Well, erm...” He blinks at that, glancing at the others, who merely look the other way. “Did it... get lodged in you, or did it exit?”

Pentious gives him a slightly withered look, glaring a touch. “You think if I knew, I would be assssking? Have _you_ gotten shot before? Were you able to tell at all if the bullet came out?”

“Erm, yes, actually.” He laughs somewhat nervously and looks aside. “My shoulder. Twice. And... well, shrapnel in my leg. I didn’t notice at first, but then I could, erm...” He closes his eyes and lets his grin almost flatten as he recalls the feeling. “Let’s just say it was uncomfortable after that.”

All of the guards visibly wince, some looking away, and even Pentious seems to go silent, his angered expression immediately dropping into stunned shock. He says nothing else, his hood falling limp.

“The first one to my shoulder when straight through, though.” Adam brightens a bit. “It barely even hurt, until the medics got to it, heheh.”

“The first scrap of lead to go through you certainly isn’t what you’re expecting, is it?” Harris meekly pipes up from the other side of the room, a bit of a grin starting to grow on his face, trying to aid in lightening the mood.

“Hah! If I’d been expecting it, I’d have ducked!” He gives him a wide smile. “Definitely quite a bit shocking. Nothing like I had heard.”

“Heh. I got mine in my leg. All I felt was some sharp burn and I just thought I pulled it.” Harris lets out a giggle at that, a small one. “Boy was I surprised when the nurses got me to the cot!”

“And of course, you say it’s nothing, right? And the talking to you get right then is... _phew!”_ Adam chuckles, managing to spot a few more bemused expressions. He clears his throat and looks back to Pentious. “Well, er... That’s all I really have to discuss with you today. Is there anything else?”

Pentious himself didn’t exactly look amused himself, nor did he look to be shocked. His expression was a blank slate, more or less, a firm stare that both expressed nothing and the finality that nothing would be said. Finally, after a moment, he shakes his head, arms crossing. “No, nothing that I can think of that would be important. Any more demandssss from your employerssss that I should know about?”

“Nothing that I’ve heard yet, so you should be clear for the time being. So long as work remains steady, as always.” He rubs the back of his neck. “So, if that’s all, erm... Good evening, and I’ll be sure to bring in that wine tomorrow.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His tail flicks, idly, and he nods, though a bit of a grin does slide back on his face. “If Burke dies tonight and I don’t have my wine, Walker, I won’t talk to you for the rest of the month.”

Adam grins a bit more at that and brings his hand to his hip. “I’d like to see you try. You wouldn’t last a day. Especially if I pull out all my jokes.”

“You wouldn’t.” Pentious’s eyes narrow, and his grin is already twitching up a bit, though he looks like he wants desperately to tug it back down. 

“Every single one, without stop.” He smirks widely, then turns to retrieve his suitcase once again. “And I know you’d either start slamming your head into a wall or not stop laughing, so maybe put some thought into what poison you want to drink, ‘ey?”

Greg is the first one to hold the door open to the exit of the Assembly room, and as the doors close behind them, voices are heard.

“Does that mean the great Sir Pent laughs at silly jokes?” Harris’s voice, clearly teasing.

“Plug up that sssssauce box of yours and leave me be.” Pentious’s voice, slightly irritated.

Adam chuckles a little, shaking his head. “Such an odd little group. I’m glad Pentious finally stopped killing the guards whenever they started getting on his nerves.”

“It probably helped when they stopped allowing him to freely hold sharp objects whenever they’re in the room.” Greg himself glances back at the door, eyes narrowing a touch. “That, and they kept the most temperamental of the guards out of his way.”

“They are pretty mellow.” Adam glances at him. “But he really doesn’t need anything sharp to kill someone. I’ve seen his claws go through metal.”

Greg glances at him at that, and he seems to turn a little pale. “...When the _fuck_ did you see _that?”_

“Hmm...” He taps his chin. “A few months back. Pentious was pulling a few all-nighters in a row and then something fell out of place. I think the project was... a car? Some vehicle of some sort, I think.”

“..He..He _caught_ a _car?”_ Greg looks as if he desperately doesn’t want to believe him but has no choice to.

He nods decisively. “Yup. Chain snapped while he was working on it. I had to grab the car jack for him since I was closest.”

“...Fuck.” He glances back toward the door as they start to walk. “How the fuck can you stand so close to him when you know _that?_ Hell, how the fuck are you not terrified of him?”

“Because if he wants to kill me, then he will. He _would have_ already.” He shrugs simply. “The concept of death doesn’t quite frighten me like most people, I suppose. If it happens, it happens.”

“Right, yeah. I for one, would rather not want to be torn to pieces by some giant snake. Especially not one who’s already a seasoned mass murderer.” Greg shakes his head a touch. “A psychologist might call you insane.”

“Hah! I bet a psychologist would have a field day trying to understand any of _this.”_ He waves vaguely at himself, chuckling. “But as for mass murderer...” He tilts his head and gives Greg a look. “I’ve killed plenty of people and you don’t seem all too worried about that, now are you?”

Greg’s eyes snap toward him, and for a moment, there’s a flash of alarm in his face, there’s a sudden tenseness that wasn’t there before, his pupils shrinking, the blood seeming to drain from his face. But then, something seems to click, and slowly, it all fades. “...Well, that’s different. That’s war. Brooks...” He casts a glance over his shoulder. “Brooks murders people for the sake of getting what he wants. For power, for a thrill. He debates the methods of killing someone and how painful he wants it to be like he’s trying to figure out what he wants for dinner that night. A soldier just fires at someone and hopes they go down. A monster like Brooks would take someone hostage and burn them alive while laughing.”

“Hm.” Adam watches him, still smiling that same smile, and then looks aside. “In my unit, some of the men were keeping tally of their kills. They’d take their knives and etch scores into their helmets, and then gloat about it. I didn’t see them often when I became a runner, but they’d always ask me what my number was.” He goes silent for a moment. “And the colonels and generals and whoever else I sent message to, they were always devising plans on _how_ to kill people, where to place explosives so the most people die, regardless of if it’s a more excruciating death or not. So war _is_ murder, as far as I can tell. There isn’t much of a difference between Harris and Tom and Sir Pentious, other than the fact that their murder was for the cause of an established state.” He looks Greg in the eyes. “Though I can assure you that Sir Pentious takes more pleasure from his kills than anyone in that room.”

There’s silence for a couple of seconds, and Greg lets out a heavy sigh, a hand coming up to run through his hair. “...Fuck, man. That’s...a really sick thought.”

“Definitely, yes. But better to face the reality than to live in blissful ignorance, isn’t it?” He raises a brow at him.

Greg sighs after another moment of silence, and then nods softly. “Yeah, yeah...I sure don’t want to be ignorant..”


End file.
